Fox & Raven
by CorvusAlbus
Summary: An eldar Pathfinder finds herself hunting the same demonic prey as a Scout Sergeant, and they are forced to work together in order to accomplish their common goal and survive. But can they work together and keep their word, or will old grudges and personal daemons come to the surface? And what will they learn of each other? The Aurelia Crusade is over; the hunt for traitors isn't.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I apologize that the new "Pathfinder"-chapter takes so long, but I've been learning for my exams this August and September for over a month now, I'm doing job applications and more aside from the usual schedule. So I'm a little stressed out at the moment and can only write occasionally. Therefore I will publish and update this new story(biweekly) until sometime in October, as it only has six chapters and is pretty much done; I only need to edit it. I promise to get "Pathfinder" out as soon as possible, but with my exams I just can't say when. Hope you enjoy the story and please keep your fingers crossed ;)

* * *

 **Fox & Raven**

 **Chapter I**

The wind was fresh and cool, carrying snowflakes from the trees and tossing them back into the air. Winter had come early, mountaintops were hidden behind clouds, but it was still comparatively warm in the valleys and so the ground was clear, while only the plants were covered by a thin, white layer.

The cold didn't bother the eldar, her armour and cameleoline cloak protecting her from the conditions. She looked about, verifying that the area was deserted, before it flashed two times behind her. The Pathfinder turned around to her fellow Outcasts, who had just emerged from the webway, two Rangers, who already had some experience.

Gently she placed a hand on a great beast at her side, a dragonhound, larger than the big cats humans knew and covered with leathery scales. Its long and narrow head looked like that of a dragon, two small horns growing above his eyes and more grew like a crest along the back of its skull. A slightly longer pair of almost straight horns grew horizontally from its temples and there was a horn growing from each elbow of its front legs as well as the heels of the hind legs.

From the middle of the skull, along its spine to its hip emerged about half a dozen bone-spikes, the longest at the neck, leathery skin connecting them all, creating a sail-like structure. A similar one was around the last third of its powerful tail, though shaped more like a leave. The skin was of warm earthy tones, mostly in shades of orange and brown, while stomach and throat remained white. Another noticeable feature were the black stripes along its body and limbs random in shape and length.

No words were exchanged among the eldar; what they had needed to discuss had been addressed on their way to this world and the three Outcasts vanished into the forest without a sound, the cloaks merging them with their surroundings perfectly. The Pathfinder was leading them east and against the wind.

Even from miles away they could hear the sounds of battle.

Tanks were roaring furiously, while crude bolters snarled fiercely and stone shattered far in the distance. She didn't need to see any of this; her years of experience told her enough to recognize and distinguish between the different units. She had heard these thing countless times before and the sounds accompanied them the entire way.

The eldar moved swiftly through the woods, many trees already stripped of their leaves, while conifers casted long shadows. The noises meanwhile grew louder and louder, as they approached the battlefield, an hour passing before they first set eyes on the humans. And the devastation.

The three eldar and the dragonhound stopped at the edge of a cliff and looked down into a deeper vale, where hundreds of meters below and still a couple of kilometres away a town had once been built at a river. The mountains surrounded the area at all sides, the peaks already white, though the vale itself had certainly still been green. At least before the battle.

While patches of vegetation remained, the area was now a battlefield, the fighting having turned fields and forest into marshland and once proud trees were now bend and broken like burned matches. It was a sad sight to behold. The town itself was only a ruin and the fighting would certainly leave hardly a stone in the end, for the conflict was still ongoing.

Ongoing, but nearing its conclusion. The Pathfinder looked through the scope of her rifle, having lain down on the cool stone of the cliff, the Rangers following her example. Quickly she scanned the settlement, immediately spotting Lossainnes, Space Marines, in crimson armour advancing further through the streets, their tanks levelling the pitiful remains of primitive buildings unfortunate enough to be in their way.

There were bodies too, mostly normal humans, but also Marines in black and crimson armour, the eight-pointed star often displayed upon their chests and pauldrons. The eldar couldn't deny a certain feeling of satisfaction, seeing those Mon'Keigh beaten and torn apart. Like all of her kin, she despised the Ruinous Powers with a passion. Naturally there were also those under the Raven banner, but their losses seemed low in comparison, at least according to what she saw during her swift scan.

It was then that one of the Rangers addressed her. "Drasann." Warrior of shadows. Shadow warrior. Yaidev had earned many nicknames in her centuries as an Outcast and this was one of the more common ones. "The Lossainnes have almost defeated the fallen ones. Only a single area still restists."

The Pathfinder nodded, her gaze moving further. Apparently the fighting was concentrated in a few blocks in the northernmost part of town. Heavy fire was already turning the crude stone buildings to dust. It wouldn't be long before the final assault began. "So it would seem, but we do not know if the one we seek is among them." They needed to locate him swiftly, before the Lossainnes got their hands on it; otherwise this mission would become much more complicated. "We must soon press onwards. Do not engage the Blood Ravens; our strife is not with them. And given how few we are, we cannot allow them to interfere with our task."

The female Ranger, known as Melinoe frowned, not bothering to hide her displeasure. "They have rightfully earned our ire. We should take this opportunity to thin their weakened ranks further. Their officers are easy enough to identify and in their arrogance many of them decline to cover their heads."

Feluhiem placed a hand on the side of his weapon. "Even their helmets would not protect them; the visors remain brittle and cannot withstand a Long Rifle."

"Enough of this." Yaidev interrupted her fellow Outcast sharply. "Our mission is too important to risk because of your desire for vengeance. And while I have no love for them, we should concede that our kin has given this chapter more than enough reasons to despise us in the past years."

"They should not have interfered in Ulthwé's plans."

The Pathfinder knew that this Ranger was still young and the passion of her craftworld was burning strong within her spirit. But Yaidev knew the dangers of such zeal and the short-sightedness annoyed her. "Tell me Melinoe: if the Lossainnes had come to Biel-Tan, luring in orks and tyranids to save their home, would you have assisted them or laid down your weapons?"

Judging by the brief widening of her violet eyes, the Ranger seemed confused and appalled. "Of course not." Yes, the thought was unimaginable.

Yaidev gave her a stern and meaningful look, her voice cool. "Then do not condemn them for having fought us on what they consider their homeworlds and focus on our task at hand." She reminded the former Biel-Tani. "As I've said; this is neither the time nor the place retribution."

Feluhiem, who had been quiet during their exchange nodded and seemed to hold no objections, his voice even and calm as he replied. "As you command, Drasann."

There were a few moments of silence, but Melinoe apparently still had something on her mind. "You're right." She conceded at first. "But the loss of the craftworld was unacceptable and our success could have prevented the spread of Chaos as well. If they had heeded our warnings..."

Yaidev sighed and lifted a hand, Melinoe stopping when she saw the gesture; even if she didn't agree with the elder Outcast, as a Pathfinder Yaidev was greatly respected and most Rangers knew better than to ignore the lectures of veterans like her. "Yes, but we should know better. We should know by now that the humans do not trust us, neither our words nor deeds. We would be fouls to believe that they would simply go along with our plans or do as we suggest."

The younger eldar considered this and when she spoke again there was none of the former aggressiveness. "Even when it benefits them as well?"

Pleased that Melinoe seemed to heed her words, Yaidev continued, though her gaze returned to the town; they were still looking for something after all. "They perceive the universe very differently from us. Their cultures are so unlike ours, born in fear, blood and fire. And naturally they do not share some of our worst fears. Besides, you mustn't forget that they cannot see how interwoven our actions truly are, or what they will ultimately result in. They only ever get a glimpse of a picture that is even too large for most of us to see. Always keep this in mind when dealing with them."

"So, whereto are we headed? I've seen no trace of the possessed." Feluhiem was right; the one they sought should stand out among the fallen. With the power it wielded it would be anything but subtle in a fight, but there weren't any signs of any psychic activities.

"Perhaps it as already left the battlefield." Melinoe suggested. "With its allies nearly defeated there are not many places it can run to. It will certainly try to leave this world."

"A ship?"

The former Biel-Tani, shrugged. "Possible, but with the Lossainnes in orbit it wouldn't be without considerable risks."

Yaidev's dark eyes narrowed. "Let us track it first; the direction may betray its intentions sooner than our musings." She rose to her feet and stepped back into the forest, seeking the shadows to cover her, the dragonhound ever following her. "My training on the Path of the Seer may be of help to us. Fear not; this will not take much time."

Having found a suitable spot beneath a large tree with low hanging branches, Yaidev sat down and opened one of the pouches at her belt. She pulled out a handful of runes, most designed to shield her mind, another to help her reach out. As she closed her eyes to focus, she could still hear her fellow Outcasts whisper.

"Is it not dangerous to use ones psychic potential in this manner, when one does not walk the Path?" Melinoe asked with a hint of worry lingering in her voice.

Feluhiem responded in the same hushed tone, though he didn't seem particularly concerned. "It is, but I've heard she received training by a Shadowseer, allowing her to use her abilities to some extent, despite having left the Paths. If rumours are true it is one of the reason she's often task with hunting followers of the Dark Gods."

"I thought her abilities would make her more vulnerable?"

"Not if part of her training included the strengthening of her psychic defences. In any case I've seen her use her force weapon against daemons before; her abilities have proven most effective."

This was true; Feluhiem had accompanied her once before, when they had retrieved Spirit Stones from a vile cult and he had seen her slay daemons with the very weapon she had once received during her time as a Seer. The wraithbone blade now rested peacefully at her hip, sleeping until the next battle. In her thoughts she briefly thanked Shadowseer Gwythyr for his guidance, before she reached out with her mind, leaving her body behind.

The world she entered felt very different from the physical plain. She didn't truly see nor hear, but she felt. She felt Feluhiem and Melinoe, their presents warm and welcoming, and Kurnous whose presence was not as strong, but very familiar, displaying the affection her loyal companion had developed ever since she'd received him as a whelp.

Her mind reached further, ignoring the faint lights of the native fauna around her, flitting over the ruined fields, to the shattered stones and smoking ruins. The humans naturally had a weaker presence than her kin, but she could sense them nonetheless. She felt a surprising turmoil of emotions, chief among them hate and anger, but there was also pain. Others were clam and surprisingly collected given that they had days of battle behind them, though if the eldar was not mistaken there was a sorrow underlining the collective emotional landscape.

Were they mourning for their chapter? The lives lost to Chaos and the past decades' slaughter? Regret for not having seen the darkness within sooner?

While Yaidev had not participated in what the humans called the Aurelia Crusades, friends and former comrades of hers had, some of which had perished. And of course she knew of the battle that had rages within the Blood Raven chapter itself. In a way, it was the reason she was here.

Her soul shivered. The twisted Space Marines fighting here were former Blood Ravens and the taint of Chaos was heavy upon the town. It was like touching a fire, but it was cold, as if her mind was getting freezer burn. Yaidev knew that the runes surrounding her physical body had to be glowing up by know, the wards trying to lessen the effect.

She was on the right track. The strength of the daemonic presence was not the result of mere worship or even tainted artefacts. No, a beast of Chaos had been here in the flesh, something large. But there was the touch of mortality about it. The possessed she sought? In any case it was so heavy that it almost completely supressed another signature, something purer, something it apparently carried with it. Yes, this was their target, beyond doubt.

Very carefully she tried to isolate the pattern, letting herself focus on the strongest taint within the area, despite her rebelling instincts. What she sensed was almost like a spiritual trail of blood drops. Wherever the beast had been, the very fabric of reality had been wounded and while it was healing, marks yet remained.

Yaidev followed, until she had her direction, but she didn't dare venture further.

Quickly she pulled her mind away again, building up every mental shield she'd weakened for the purpose of her search. Soon she felt her body again, strangely unfamiliar and restrictive for a moment, but also save, like an armour of flesh and blood.

She took a few deep breaths, feeling herself warming up and the feeling of vulnerability lessening with each moment. Finally the Pathfinder opened her eyes again.

Her fellow Outcasts still seemed worried, while Kurnous' back sail was up, rustling like a rattlesnake's tail. Yaidev looked about and saw that the area around her was now frozen, a layer of ice covering the ground and the bark of the tree behind her. Only the runes remained untouched and were slowly losing their blue glow.

"I am well." She assured them, picking up the runes one by one and wiping cool sweat from her forehead. "And I have found a promising trail."

"We grew worried, when the ice started growing." Feluhiem confessed.

Yaidev nodded. "Its presence was strong, though this works in our favour. It was clearly heading deeper into the mountains to the north." She rose to her feet and shouldered her Long Rifle. "We should head there without delay, before the trail runs cold, or the weather can hinder our efforts." The two Rangers merely nodded and the small group got moving again.

They headed down into the valley, but kept away from the town, moving around it and the human forces. They crossed a cold river in forest, the smell of burning flesh, ash and corruption ever growing stronger. Fortunately they met no human on their way, though at a few noises they stopped and hid in the shadows. Thankfully however, their journey was without incident.

The eldar ascended into the mountains again at the other side of the vale, the deciduous trees getting more and more superseded by ever green conifers. The wind was getting colder as well and snow started falling by the time they had reached the mountains north of the town.

For a while they searched for any clues about their prey whereabouts, but at first they found nothing of use. There were footprints of Space Marines, warmachines, but they all had been heading towards the town. Certainly these had been left before the battle. Perhaps she needed to use her powers again.

"This scent…" Melinoe began after some time.

"The stench of Chaos." Yaidev merely noted; even the thick cloth covering her nose and mouth couldn't keep it at bay. Usually the pungent smell would be enough to pursue their prey, but given the number of Chaos worshippers, who had come this way, there was no way to single out the daemon. Likely it had moved further north.

"Drasann." Feluhiem suddenly called out, using their wraithbone earpieces. "I have found tracks."

Yaidev and Melinoe, Kurnous right behind him, quickly joined the Ranger, who had been searching about a kilometre west of them. They found him at what seemed to be a small path in the shadows of the trees, the ground more even here and with no vegetation. Next to Feluhiem on the ground were indeed foot prints, which looked a little as if they had been burned into the ground, the earth almost black around them, with little snow.

Yaidev kneeled down to examine them more closely, the fool stench stronger here. "The foot size of a Lossainn." She concluded. "And he had talons, powerful ones judging from the depth of these marks." Yes, this had to be the daemon they'd been looking for, the possessed. Her skin even shivered at the close proximity.

"The snow has not yet covered them. It must have come this way only recently." Melinoe pointed out and looked north, to where the trail was leading.

The other Ranger nodded. "And I have found no tracks leading back to the town." Feluhiem added. "But there are a few marks on the stone further up the path."

Closing her eyes, Yaidev let her mind gaze into the wilderness ahead, but other than before kept her guard up and within her physical form. "I can sense something. Very vague; it escapes my grasp like fog." It was likely masking its presence.

"We shouldn't delay. It already has too great a head start." The Biel-Tani noted, suddenly seeming tense. Yaidev couldn't blame her; facing a daemon was always a troubling prospect, no matter one's experience. Even the Pathfinder felt a familiar nervousness, though for her the sensation was no doubt weaker.

"Agreed." The Pathfinder let her dragonhound sniff at the print and the plants the beast had touched on its way through. Her pet growled threateningly at the scent, its own instincts warning it of the danger. Eventually the animal took the lead and the eldar set out north, ever higher into the mountains, while the sun wandered steadily down towards the horizon.

* * *

Smoke was rising to the cloudy sky, the cool wind carrying the scent of burned flesh and death. Debris cracked beneath brother Myron's heavy boots as he walked through his designated street of the ruined town, searching for survivors. The few he found among the traitors he finished with a precise hellfire round, his eyes narrowed with disgust behind his expressionless helmet.

How could so many of the Blood Ravens have fallen?

The idea of turning against his chapter and the Emperor was near incomprehensible to the young Space Marine. Having served under Captain, now Chapter Master Angelos ever since the completion of his training as a scout, his faith was strong, as much truth to him as the fact that planets orbited suns.

What could daemons offer other than lies? They aimed to destroy the Imperium, the Emperor's work and yet so many had come to bow to dark gods and other false idols. It was disgusting. Pathetic.

They were Space Marines, chosen to protect the Imperium and the Emperor's people. To cast that aside would be to relinquish one's very purpose, exchanging it for meaninglessness. For what? Bloodshed, destruction and conquest? War was his duty, but for a cause far greater than him. Without that it would be hollow. Myron could not see the temptation in that.

Reaching the end of the road he suddenly heard a bolter nearby and turned around the next corner, seeing his Sergeant, who had taken a parallel street, dispose another heretic.

The helmetless Marine looked up. "Brother Myron; I take it you have completed your task?"

The younger Marine nodded. "The street and buildings have been cleared, brother Sergeant."

"Very well." He reloaded his bolter and briefly looked down at one of the black armoured Marines again. "I've just received word that we'll be pulling out this town. The Captain wishes to clean this place from orbit."

"With holy fire."

Sergeant Arsaces nodded and started walking down another road leading to the centre, where the squad was supposed to regroup and Myron followed, the two Marines walking side by side. "Indeed. However we're going to stay here on Nemus for the time being and make sure that no traitor remains on this world or manages to flee. And it allows Sergeant Cyrus to complete his task."

"Task, Sergeant?" The Scout Sergeant was known to receive unusual missions from time to time and if rumours were to be believed, had found himself fighting alongside the Inquisition and according to some more designated ones, even Assassins of the Officio. Since Myron had been recruited only a short time before the Tyranid invasion, just after Kaurava, he couldn't say how much was true, though from what he'd seen of his former teacher, he could believe most of it. The time spent with the Deathwatch at least was well known and added to the Scout's infamous reputation, though his students tended to be absolutely loyal to him, as well as devoted.

Myron himself had been one of them and while Cyrus had clearly been a demanding, the young Marine had never considered him an impatient teacher, but rather objective and fair-minded. Still, the Sergeant rarely gave praise and so it was said among Scouts that a nod of approval was worth more than several commendations from the Chapter itself. Given what had happened in the past decade that was likely true.

Since Cyrus was also the oldest still living Scout Sergeant and the most experienced, some initiates had taken up to refer to him as their chapter's Master of Recruits, though never in his presence. The title had once been used in the chapter, but after the last had perished in battle, the previous Chapter Master Kyras had never chosen another. Some had attributed this to the differences between him and Cyrus, while others had deemed the Scout Sergeant unsuitable due to his tactics and…outspokenness. In any case, Cyrus cared nothing for titles; he was aware of his skills, duties and responsibilities, no matter what others called him, and he knew of the influence he wielded, now that almost every initiate was trained by him, or someone he had trained.

Meanwhile Sergeant Arsaces sighed. "Apparently one of the traitors escaped during the battle, taking with it a powerful artefact. Cyrus volunteered to hunt him down and retrieve it. I'm not exactly surprised."

"Sir?"

The elder Marine stopped and pointed at a dead traitor without a helmet, his face disfigured by an eight-pointed star. "See that one; I remember him from a little over a decade ago, one of Sergeant Cyrus' initiates. Becomes an Assault Marine while Cyrus is with Captain Angelos following the second Crusade and turns to Chaos." He looked around with a darkened expression until he could identify another body. "This other was abducted as an initiate during a battle in the second Crusade. Next time we see him, he's a puppet for the Dark Gods. I suspect there is a story like this for most traitors here. Cyrus has been a Scout Sergeant for so long that he's trained the majority of Blood Ravens by now, including ourselves. Most of those we've killed today he's known since their initiation into the chapter." He shook his head with a saddened look in his eyes. "So I suppose in a way, he has more reason to be here than most of us."

The thought was troubling. Myron didn't know most of those he'd killed in battle this day. They were merely traitors, which made the slaying of his former brothers rather simple. Satisfying even.

But he knew just how protective the Scout Sergeant could be. He'd heard how his old teacher had lost his temper upon the abduction of his students, a rarity to be sure. He was devoted to his initiates, like a stern but well-meaning father. This treason had to be especially cruel to him, to be betrayed by the men he had helped foster from adolescence and turn into battle-brothers.

The two Marines got walking again, this time remaining silent, both in thought. Occasionally they heard bolters, single shots, or tanks that crushed stone as the manoeuvred through the ruins. Something cracked beneath his boots and Myron looked down at the remnants of a horned helmet. Even this inanimate object seem to mock them with fiery lenses. Sergeant Arsaces had stopped and looked briefly at the helmet as well, before he turned to his brother.

"Come; it's time we leave this cursed town."

Slowly Myron nodded. "Brother Sergeant, who is he hunting?"

His Sergeant's eyes narrowed, his expression marked by hatred. "Apparently the one responsible for the slaughter of Scout Sergeant Amyntas' squad. And if the late Sergeant's last communication was true, also some harrowing ritual in the northern district of the city, for which he used some of our brothers." Arsaces clutched his bolter. "We don't know if the heretic accomplished what he'd attempted, but the site will soon burn with the rest of this town. Myron, pray that this is the last of treachery within our chapter. After this world has been cleansed we will have dealt with the last of our fallen."

* * *

Side Note: Part of Myron's depiction of Cyrus is inspired by loading screens and weapon descriptions in Dawn of War II, like this:

 _"Only the dreaded assassins of the Vindicare Temple wield Exitus Rifles. However, a veteran Scout Sergeant of the Blood Ravens found himself fighting alongside one of these deathdealers at the height of the Walsh Uprising. One year later, this modified Astartes Sniper Rifle appeared among his gear."_

and

 _"…Cyrus is a demanding Sergeant, but he is also patient and fair-minded, and these traits inspire fanatical devotion from his initiates. Among Blood Raven Scouts, a simple nod of approval from Cyrus is said to mean more than a dozen commendations from the chapter."_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

The sun was still setting, mountains and trees throwing ever longer shadows across the land. The eldar continued on with only taking short breaks to verify that they were still headed in the right direction, as the landscape created a labyrinth of small paths and trails. Kurnous was in front, his fine nose picking up the demon's trail with relative ease, though the eldar too noticed the lingering taint despite the ever present wind.

Ghost-like they moved through the conifer dominated forest and barren clearings. By now the ground beneath their feet was as hard as stone and only specks of grass still withstood the cold temperatures, the shrubs having lost all leaves.

When they followed a path up a steep mountainside, Yaidev briefly stopped on one of the natural steps to pick something up. Her dark eyes narrowed as she regarded a blue feather, shimmering with shades of violet and emerald. It could have been deemed beautiful, had it not been for the burning feeling she could vaguely feel even through her leather gloves. The daemon surely had lost it during its ascent.

Eventually the eldar reached even ground again, a plateau at the wind-protected side of the mountain, densely forested as a result. Yaidev had them stop; she could feel her spirit shiver, her hair standing on end, but not from the cold. The forest before them was dark, the orange sun-light only dim, not quite reaching into this area anymore.

Once more the Pathfinder felt nervous, despite her experience, but she wasn't surprised. Daemons came from the Sea of Souls, which in part was fuelled by emotions; it was common that they dragged otherwise hidden or subtle feelings to the surface as a result. It was one of the ways they managed to influence mortals by their mere presence. As an eldar, Yaidev and her comrades were especially vulnerable.

With a few gestures she told the Rangers to fan out and seek cover, the two acting without delay, while she herself moved straight into the woods until she reached a large rock. Kurnous kept close to her, his back-sail lowered, as he sniffed the air. Yaidev gently placed a hand on his dragon-like head, petting his nose and forehead. The animal calmed down and leaned into her touch, his sail rising a bit.

The Pathfinder drew her Long Rifle and ordered Kurnous to remain behind the stone. She headed deeper into the forest, making no sound, neither on snow nor earth. Not even the branches of the shrubs she passed stirred. Her keen eyes searched the forest, but it seemed empty in the twilight of dusk.

She caught glimpses of Melinoe and Feluhiem moving now as well, one a couple of meters to her left, the other to the right. It got darker around them the further they went, their pace slow.

There was a breeze, making the trees rustle and then she heard it. A low chuckle, cold, amused. It was here and it had noticed them.

Yaidev was suddenly blinded by a violet lightning bolt, wood broke and rained down upon her, forcing her to her knees. She heard a rifle being fired to her left and smelled ash, as she pushed a branch off her back, ignoring a dull pain in her shoulder. Damnation; this should not have happened! Her eyes adjusted and she looked about, body pressed against another tree.

The lightning had hit near Feluhiem's position, a large area now destroyed, with only about half a dozen stumps being all what remained of the trees. There was no sight of her comrade. Supressing her emotions, Yaidev quickly raised her Long Rifle. The pan-spectral sights allowed her to view her surroundings in multiple spectra and in this case she examined the psychic one.

The attack had left a bright violet trail and Yaidev saw a hulking figure in the shadows, likely having been concealed on the physical plain by its powers. But not from an Outcast. The beast moved, Yaidev aimed and fired.

She heard the daemon howl, but knew that it had not been slain; it had only been intended to agitate it. There was too much in her line of fire and she needed to drive it somewhere more convenient.

For a second she regarded their target, a humanoid creature only slightly taller than a Space Marine in that hulking Terminator-armour, but she could see horns and something that looked like wings. In its right hand it carried what appeared to be a staff at first glance, but Yaidev knew better. It was a lance and a powerful force weapon. The pan-spectral sights reveal that it was the source of the lightning. Its exact appearance however remained hidden from her sight for now.

The beast moved swiftly, very swiftly for something of its size and towards Yaidev's left, where Melinoe had taken position. The young Ranger fired now as well and Yaidev saw that the shot had penetrated one of its legs. Another snarl and it stopped, before it brought the lance down with all its might.

The moment the weapon hit the earth to its feet, the ground shook. The trees bent as if a blast wave had mowed them down, the earth cracked and split open around the daemon, as a crater was forming.

Yaidev was knocked to the ground, same as Melinoe. But the other eldar had been a lot closer to the epicentre and now rolled down the new, artificial depression. As swiftly as possible the Pathfinder got back on her feet, her hood slipping down. Melinoe wouldn't stand a chance against such a creature!

With the trees and shadows gone, Yaidev got her first good look at the beast.

One could still see that he had once been an Astartes, though corruption was now claiming him more and more. His black and crimson power armour was decorated with runes, most cut into it in a, for an eldar, crude manner. The pauldrons were shaped to resemble bird skulls with toothed beaks, the arms however remained bare, yet feathers, just like the one she'd found earlier, were growing from the shoulders down, having almost reached the elbows.

The rest of his skin was pale, already turning violet, his feet ending in bird-like talons that reminded her of the bipedal dragons the Exodite rode, making him stand taller than a normal Losseainn. His head was bare, two black horns growing from his temples, his eyes glowing with an unnatural blue. As he looked down at the falling Melinoe, he smiled cruelly, exposing sharp teeth. He had indeed a pair of wings on his back, brightly feathered, each ending in a single claw, almost like a thorn. Something about the positioning of the joints however struck her as off, but in the heat of the moment, Yaidev couldn't put her finger on it.

Their purpose became clear a mere second later.

Like the scything talons of a tyranid Lictor, or the tail of a scorpion, the two wings struck at Melinoe. Just in time she managed to roll sideways, evading the thorns that dug deeply into the ground next to her. Meanwhile Yaidev had picked up her Long Rifle again. Her comrade would not die by this monster's hand, when she could prevent it.

The possessed pulled his wings back and lifted the lance instead, ready to stab and impale the Ranger, who was now a mere meter from his feet. It was moving down, Yaidev pulled the trigger.

This time the beast howled loudly, as the shot severed his right arm just above the elbow. Forearm and lance fell to the ground, viscous blood dropping from the gushing wound. The possessed turned around with flaring eyes, apparently only now becoming aware of Yaidev's presence. "Make that three." He snarled, his expression showing no longer pain, but rage.

"Melinoe, get away from it!" The Pathfinder shouted, taking aim, finger on the trigger, while her comrade seemed petrified, drops of daemon blood across her face.

Yaidev fired anew, the shot however impacted before it had reached the possessed Marine. A psychic shield deviated the energy of her projectile, dispersing it. Thankfully it seemed to wake Melinoe, who finally recovered and struggled back to her feet, but she was noticed.

"Leaving so soon, eldar?"

Faster than a striking snake a wing stuck again. And this time it hit. Melinoe screamed when the thorn dug into her left thigh, before pulling her back down the slope. Yaidev gritted her teeth in anger, exchanging her Long Rifle for her sword. Her Witchblade too was a force weapon, double-edged, designed so she could handle it with one or two hands. The blade itself shimmered in shades of silver-white to violet-blue, almost as if it was made out of nacre, while the hilt was of the same colour as bone, adored with a few azure gems.

"And now to you." The daemon growled and lifted his remaining hand.

Yaidev started running, jumped over a fallen tree and into the crater. She whistled loudly as she half ran, half slid down the slope, blade ready. The daemon's eyes brightened and lightning leaped from his claw-like fingertips.

Yaidev stopped, feet digging into the ground as best as they could and she brought the sword in front of her. The lighting hit the blade, which glowed up brightly in response. She could feel the energy, but it didn't harm her, something the possessed realized quickly and he lowered his hand. She swung her blade and the energy went haywire, a powerful bolt darting into the ground somewhere to her right. A shame she couldn't aim something like that, but for now she was happy to be unscathed.

The daemon's eyes narrowed. "Witch."

Yaidev gave him a ghost of a mocking smile. "I've been called far worse by your ilk, Mon'Keigh."

"Of that I have no doubt." He merely replied. His voice was still remarkably human, though it sounded as if he was speaking in a large, empty hall, rather than a destroyed forest. "I know why you are here, xeno, but I have no intention to part with it."

"Fear not, the choice is not yours."

"Ah, as usual the eldar take the trouble of decision-making upon themselves." The creature mocked her and then his glowing eyes narrowed. "But after a lifetime of following the orders of self-righteous fools, I'm less than declined to submit to you…witch." He put extra emphasis on the last word, smiling cruelly again as he did.

With slow, careful steps, Yaidev descended further down, ever towards the daemon and Melinoe, who was still conscious and pressing her hands on the hole in her thigh, blood seeping from between her fingers. "I had no intentions of letting you live, no matter your actions." She merely replied.

"Then you will bear no grudge for this." With both legs he suddenly pushed himself off the ground, straight towards the Pathfinder. Yaidev dodge sideways, eyes always on her opponent and she saw a wing moving into position. Having seen it twice before, she was able to predict the attack. Quickly Yaidev leaped back and the thorn dug into the ground just beneath her feet instead.

Just as swiftly she brought her blade down, the glowing blade cutting into the demonic flesh. The barrier did not stop her force weapon and she cut through, shortening the wing by at least a third. Blood spat, some landing on her armour and the possessed snarled, ready to bring down his other wing, a hand reaching out for her.

"Argh!" He hesitated briefly to look behind him and Yaidev smiled.

Kurnous had heard her whistle.

Like his wild kin he had attack from behind and his powerful jaws were holding on to the second wing, his claws cutting deep marks into the power armour. Yaidev took the opportunity to strike, but the possessed noticed her and once more lighting leaped from his fingers.

She barely had time to bring her blade between the psychic attack and herself. This time she didn't manage to catch and deflect the lightning properly, this time it went haywire right away.

With merely a meter between them, Yaidev was toss back, her body slammed against the ground further up the slope, while the possessed, with Kurnous still holding on the wing, got thrown in the opposite direction.

Yaidev coughed and groaned at the pain from the impact, as well as the lightning that had brushed her, hair standing on end. Even without full power, the charge was burning down her limbs, sending her heart racing. She shook her head as she sat up, her right hand still holding on to her sword with a tight grip.

The daemon was standing, though he was panting, clearly having been hit by the electric backlash as well. He bared his pointy teeth and with a powerful move of his wing, threw Kurnous off, though the dragonhound tore off a piece in the process. Kurnous landed on his side and growled threateningly as he got on his paws again.

With blood now dripping from three larger wounds the possessed held in for a moment. To say he seemed annoyed would have been an understatement, yet as that smile returned Yaidev grew tense. The dripping stopped, almost at once, as dark powers sealed the injuries.

With slow deliberate steps he moved towards his lost limb and the lance, as well as Melinoe, who had not moved an inch. Her head had sunken to the ground by now and it looked like she wasn't applying as much pressure to her wound as before. She was losing consciousness from the severe blood loss.

Yaidev moved towards her as well, her narrowed eyes on the daemon, walking just as slowly. He stopped upon reaching the lance, picked it up with his left hand and pointed it at the Pathfinder once more. "Other than you, I will give you a choice, eldar. Attack or follow me." He pointed the lance at Melinoe, Kurnous growling behind him in response. "And this one will die. Or you let me leave and save her life instead."

Yaidev clutched her weapon's hilt even tighter. She wanted to end this here and now, but he was right; Melinoe was running out of time. She would die of her injury or get caught in the cross fire. No, she had to let him go for now. He was injured and Yaidev had a idea what his intentions were. As soon as Melinoe was safe, she could pick up the trail again and finish this, without risking her companion's life.

"Leave, daemon." The Pathfinder told him coldly. "But I promise you we'll meet again."

He gave her a chuckle that sent shivers down her spine. The mere presence of this creatures dragged everything closer to the surface, things she could have suppressed or ignored otherwise. "I'll look forward to it."

The possessed tapped the ground with the lance and fog rose, thicker than anything natural. His hulking form disappeared in it, as it spread across the bottom of the crater and to the north. Yaidev remained cautious as she walked to Melinoe, but nothing happened. She didn't even hear steps anymore.

Another breeze swept across the forest, or what remained of it, dispersing the fog as swiftly as it had appeared. Of the daemon remained no trace but the destruction he'd caused.

For the first time since the initial lightning bolt, Yaidev allowed herself to relax a little and kneeled down next to her fellow Outcast, putting her blade aside. There was a lot of blood, Melinoe's hand barely able to cover the wound, which without the wraithbone armour would have been a lot worse; perhaps the strike would have even severed her limb.

Yaidev had learned a few things about healing in her centuries as an Outcast, but having never walked the Path of Healing, this was beyond her skill. The bleeding however was not. From a pouch at her belt, she retrieved another rune, which she placed it in the palm of her hand. With the other hand she carefully brushed aside Melinoe's and covered the wound herself.

The Pathfinder closed her eyes and relaxed as best she could. Her muscles loosened, the pain in her body eased and only now did she connect her mind with the rune. Energy, warm and comforting ran through her veins and she breathed out slowly and content. Then she guided the energy into Melinoe.

The rune was not the source of the energy, it was a focus, helping her adjust her powers to the task. She couldn't recreate flesh and bone, she doubted any healer could, however what she could do was stimulate the cells that were still there. She could make them work faster, more efficiently, as long as it involved something they could do naturally. Yaidev hummed as she let blood vessels close and reconnect, a habit she had picked up when she'd been a Bonesinger. She found music helpful whenever she used her psychic powers, even if it wasn't necessary.

Pearls of sweat gathered on her forehead and after a minute or two Yaidev stopped to conserve her energies and strengthened the shields of her mind again. Prolonged usage was always dangerous, especially for an Outcast.

She opened her eyes again and to her relief saw that the wound was no longer bleeding, in fact it even seemed a little smaller, though she was difficult to say.

"Drasann?" By Hoec, Melinoe's voice sounded so faint. "I'm sorry…I…"

Yaidev gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "You don't need to apologize, sister. He was more powerful than we anticipated. That he learned how to use the lance." She sighed; she had underestimated his abilities. This was in part her fault. "Rest; I will see after Feluhiem and return as swiftly as possible."

Melinoe nodded weakly.

"Kurnous, stay with her." The dragonhound moved closer and sat down next to the wounded Ranger, as Yaidev climbed up the slope. She had little hope for Feluhiem. The first lightning had either hit him or impacted very close by and that he hadn't joined them or made contact yet, meant that he was either incapacitated or dead.

The immediate area around the crater was devastated and Yaidev walked across fallen trees, stirring ash and snow alike. She quickly reached the impact site and looked about. Then she saw an arm between twigs and larger branches.

His body was almost completely hidden beneath the fine, long needles of the conifer's branches, but when she removed the last one across his body, the extent of his injuries was plain. The lightning had hit him in the chest, the wraithbone gone, the flesh beneath it black and burned, as was part of his face. It looked as if the areas had been turned to burned coal.

She didn't need to check, but did so nonetheless, her fingers finding neither pulse nor breathing. Yaidev reached out with her mind, but sensed no other. Sorrow filled her heart, making it heavy with regret. He shouldn't have died here. She should have been able to prevent it. One of her hands clenched into a fist; that monster would suffer for this deed.

Gently she reached for a pocket in the layers of his armour. Most eldar wore their spirit stones as a necklace or on their chest in a frame sewn-in their clothing. Even the jewels many warriors wore on their armour were either decoration or housed the technology necessary to run their suits properly. While she'd been a Dark Reaper, the ruby one on her chest had helped her regulate the stabilizers of her armour among others. Plenty others however did indeed wear them openly for quick collection.

When not displayed, the true spirit stone that safeguarded the fallen's soul was sometimes hidden where it could not be lost in the heed of battle and was less likely to receive damage. Having gathered the souls of the dead for centuries, Yaidev found Feluhiem's quickly and pulled it from the pocket at his chest. It was still attached to the chain around his neck, but it didn't shimmer anymore. It was glowing.

The blue jewel shone brighter than a candle, the light within it moving like an aurora and with the outmost care she severed the stable wraithbone chain with a psychic command. Cradling the spirit stone in her left hand, she placed the other at his undamaged cheek. "Forgive me brother. You have my word that I'll see your soul and body returns to your home and family." She moved her fingers almost tenderly over his eyes and mouth, making sure they were closed, before she folded his hands on his abdomen. "Rest peacefully; may you never again suffer the horrors of war. May you find your place beside your ancestors."

Yaidev knew she couldn't linger for long. She needed to get Melinoe to a saver location first, before she could hide his body. Feluhiem needed a temporary resting place, until she could recover him after the hunt. She scouted the side of the mountain and the still intact parts of the forest, before she returned to the crater. There the younger Ranger had sat up by now, her hood down, revealing her paler than normal face, shimmering with cold sweat, a few strands of her brown hair lying across. Kurnous raised his head expectantly, when he saw his owner.

Melinoe looked at her questioningly, though with little hope. When Yaidev shook her head, she only nodded slowly with a saddened expression in response. "Can you move?" The Pathfinder asked her calmly, burying her own emotions. There would be a time and place latter.

"I'll require assistance, but I should be able to cover a short distance." She clearly was still in pain, even though she tried to hide it.

Luckily they wouldn't need to go far. "Good; I've found a small, but suitable cavern where you should be able to hide out for the time being."

Since the daemon's head start got greater with each passing moment the two eldar moved as quickly as possible, after the Pathfinder had helped her back to her feet. Yaidev almost carried the other Outcast as they walked, Kurnous by her side, allowing Melinoe to place a hand on his shoulder for additional support, whenever she feared to lose balance.

By the time they had reached the cavern it was night, even though it only had been minutes. The shelter was indeed small, a slim opening hidden in a rock face, surrounded by stone and vegetation alike, only visible when standing right in front of it and even then fern and hanging moss barred the view inside. Yaidev helped her companion into it, having to lift her over the final rock.

She followed inside and helped Melinoe get somewhat comfortable, placing her injured leg in better supported position, using a stone to serve as a stool. Their keen eyes allowed them to work in the dark and once the Ranger was settled in, Yaidev handed the Biel-Tani her Long Rifle.

"I'll return to the ship as soon as I'm capable." Melinoe promised, before she tried to muster a smile. "Fear not; as long as I do not have to fight I will be fine."

Yaidev nodded and retrieved something from a pouch. "Take this."

She looked at the glowing jewel that the Pathfinder placed in her hand. "Feluhiem's spirit stone?" Melinoe asked surprised.

The former Saim-Hannian placed a hand on the Witchblade's hilt, the other on the strap of her own rifle across her back. "I go after a daemon; I have cost Feluhiem his life already, I will not risk his soul needlessly, no matter what dark entity this Mon'Keigh has sworn allegiance to."

"Be safe, Yaidev Sionnarie." The Ranger wished her.

"May Isha watch over you, Melinoe."

Yaidev stepped out and made sure that the plants covered the entrance once more, after they had disturbed them. She returned to Feluhiem's body and moved it deeper into the woods.

The Pathfinder buried him beneath rocks so no predator would defile his body while she was gone, though only the frost could keep insects away from him. After she'd covered the improvised constructs with branches, Yaidev disappeared into the night with only Kurnous at her side. By now she believed to know the daemon's destination and she doubled her pace, her cloak billowing soundlessly, as she followed her dragonhound, which soon after their departure had managed to pick up the trail again.

This hunt war far from over.

* * *

The earth was frozen and hard as stone, cracks showing in the brown soil. Normal footprints would have been difficult to find, the morning sun only shining dimly into the dense forest of conifers, but Scout Sergeant Cyrus was pursuing something far from normal. He saw the holes sharp talons had left behind, actually burned into the ground, disturbed leaves and broken branches.

And there was of course that scent.

Even without the keen senses of an Astartes, one could not miss the taint, in this case a strange, pungent mix of sweet, tangy and smoky; nothing about it fitted the cold forest or lofty mountains surrounding the Blood Raven.

Two days had passed since he'd begun his hunt, ever following the tracks left behind by the traitor. His healthy brow knitted at the thought, as his organic eye narrowed. Like so many Blood Ravens the one he pursued now had been a student of his once.

And like so many, he had fallen.

And he himself could not help but wonder if he could have done more to prevent such tragedy. For years initiates learned under his tutelage and that of other Scout Sergeants, many of which he had trained as well. With such influence, he shouldered a lot of responsibility, his lessons affecting all scouts in the end.

Could he have perhaps done more to strengthen their resolve and faith?

A Space Marine's training wasn't just physical, it involved much more than the art of combat. Their minds needed to be moulded as well, not just concerning tactical understanding, but critical thinking. Not to create doubt, but to see through the lies and deceptions of their enemies, or to face obstacles and adversities and find solutions to them. It was meant to cement their convictions so no heretical persuasion would ever shake it.

It would seemed he had failed many in that respect.

Following the second, as well as during the third Aurelia Crusade, Cyrus had been focused on their mission to stop Kyras and save what was left of their chapter and sector, but now after the Battle of Cyrene, now that they hunted down the last of those, who had fallen to Chaos, he felt guilt.

His own faith had remained strong even in those dark times. Even when it had been revealed that their Chapter Master had fallen to Chaos, he had quickly, and rather simply, accepted it. As a veteran he knew that everyone was fallible, mere citizen, Inquisitor as well as Astartes. Besides, in the past, on several occasions, he had had a brush with the then Chapter Master, which some had held against him. He had never quite gotten along with Kyras and so the truth had been that much easier to believe.

In any case, denial was pointless and dangerous as Captain Diomedes had proven, having kept his eyes closed for too long. Only in the last days of the crusade, with the threat of the Exterminatus hanging over them, had he truly accepted it.

But this hunt, in some respects, felt much more personal.

When Diomedes had faced Kyras in battle on Cyrene, he had faced some his sins and failings, in a rather literal sense his own daemons so to speak. For Cyrus it was much the same now, ever since this 'culling' had begun. His students, all of them. Well; almost, and his particular traitor was close.

Cyrus reached a clearing, though remained in the shadows, studying the prints that led into the open. They were so fresh that smoke was still rising from them. He lifted his sniper rifle and scanned the area closely. Nothing stirred. Even the animals had disappeared.

Not even heat signatures could not be found, trees and stones almost equally cold at these high altitudes. Wait. Yes, even the prints didn't appear, despite the smoke and the fact that he had felt warmth rising from them earlier. Sorcery no doubt.

Strange. This one had not shown any significant psychic potential in the past, none Cyrus was aware of. But it had been many years since this one had been a scout. Besides, it didn't mean that mutation or dark rituals couldn't have changed his psychic aptitude in the past years and apparently drastically so. This complicated matters.

A breeze came and he noticed the scent again, his head turned north-west immediately. The air suddenly felt charged, too abruptly for a natural phenomenon. His muscles tensed, ready to react on a moment's notice.

And he was suddenly blinded by a bright flash.

Earth was thrown into the air, trees broke and caught fire as lightning struck, several bolts having been unleashed at once. But the attack had been random, without a specific target. Good; this meant the traitor hadn't located him yet.

With the lighting having come from the same direction as the scent, Cyrus searched the area even more carefully this time. With this kind of power, he would need to kill his target with one shot, or risk exposure. And in an open battle, Cyrus was at a great disadvantage.

Another barrage hit, this time closer, but he had closed his eye in time. Trees fell, taking down others with them. Cyrus had no choice but to move, a tree coming down on his position. He slipped away without a sound, branches brushing him. Once more he grateful for the training received by his brother in the Deathwatch, a Raven Guard skilled in the art of wraith slipping. He dodged two trees and a couple of burning branches, but noticed that he was dangerously close to the clearing. Was the traitor trying to drive him into the open? He would have no such luck.

There was another breeze, stronger this time and a shade moved through the forest, easily large and fast enough for an Astartes in power armour. The Scout Sergeant watched it, the shade stopping in the clearing, allowing him to study it in plain sight. And finally Cyrus knew what the purpose of the ritual at the town had been.

It was the traitor he was looking for, if heavily mutated by now, with two wings, one shorter than the other, horns, bird-like feet with sharp talons, feathers growing along the exposed skin of his arms. The right one was thinner from the elbow on, ending in long claws, while tentacles grew from the joint. His black and crimson armour was covered with heretical symbols that hurt to look at, as if one was staring into a close by fire for too long. Even his skin had a pale, violet appearance, his eyes shining with unnatural light. This seemed more than mutation; this appeared to be possession.

In his right hand he held a strange lance, a far too slender and elegant weapon for the Forces of Chaos, the sharp blade of flawless silver, the staff reminiscent of black marble with blue ribbon that swayed gently in the wind.

The traitor looked about, turning his back to the Blood Raven. "I know you are here, loyalist. I can sense your presence." He called loudly, his voice echoing ever so slightly. Other than that, he seemed calm, not the least bit disquieted by the fact that he was being pursued.

Cyrus aimed carefully, waiting for the traitor to turn and show his unprotected head again. Partially daemon or not, a shot through the skull was devastating. But for a moment the possessed held in. He lifted his lance, Cyrus once more tensing, expecting another barrage of lightning. Then the earth beneath his feet started to vibrate. Was he creating an earthquake?

The traitor slammed the lance back on the ground, the staff burying itself into the soil. Before Cyrus had a chance to react the ground shook, he stabilized his stance, only to realize that it had been a mistake. With the speed of a bullet, spikes of solid stone shot out of the ground, impaling trees, breaking some, everywhere around the clearing as it seemed.

Cyrus just managed to angle his body away, a spike missing his face by inches, only to stop as on found its way beneath the left pauldron into his chest, reaching up into shoulder. The pain shot through his body, but he suppressed a snarl, his sniper rifle still in his right hand. He immediately tried to lift himself of the spike, blood running from his wound, as the possessed turned his head, sniffing the air.

A cruel smile appeared on his lips, presenting his pointy teeth once more and he walked straight towards Cyrus. The Scout Sergeant quickly realized that he would not be able to free himself in time, the mobility of his left arm limited, his back pressed against a tree, the traitor moving swiftly.

He reached the treeline and Cyrus lifted his sniper rifle, the weapon swaying a little, as he could only support it with one arm. In the Deathwatch he'd learned to fire a bolter one handed properly, but this rifle was almost as long as he was tall with about two meters.

The traitor moved between the trees, concealed in the twilight, doubtlessly having spotted him already, and the Blood Raven aimed. Only a few steps in front of him, the possessed appeared from the shadows, his mouth opening to say something, but Cyrus' fingers were already squeezing the trigger.

The possessed realized this too late and while he deflected the bullet, he only guided it to another area instead of away from him. The long bullet hit him in the abdomen, destroying the thinner layers, leaving a gushing whole. Viscous blood leaked from it, the flesh was torn, apparently only held together by the few parts of his armour that were left. In fact the midsection of his body seemed almost gone.

His pain was obvious, the possessed holding in, actually taking a single step backwards, his more human, left hand placed on the large wound. Cyrus lifted his weapon to fire again. The traitor's expression betrayed his agony, his glowing eyes narrowed, his teeth barred. Surprisingly he began to chuckle, there were streaks of colours and he suddenly stood directly in front of the Blood Raven. Cyrus had seen this before, usually with Bloodletters.

Most unnerving however, the heretic was no longer bleeding as it seemed, the bluish flesh slowly knitting itself back together. "Well; I suppose a day or two ago this could have killed me." He noted, though still looking as if he was in some agony.

"Seleucus." The pain in his chest and shoulder was pulsating, but Cyrus refused to show it, his anger dulling it remarkably well as he met the traitor's glare.

The possessed recognized him immediately and he smiled. "Ah, Sergeant Cyrus." He greeted him mockingly. "I see you've survived the battle. Not that I'm surprised, you've always been a stubborn one."

Cyrus gave no reply and let go off his rifle, his hand reaching for another of his weapons; with Seleucus a mere meter in front of him the sniper was useless. He found the hilt of his combat knife that was attached to his leg.

The traitor took one more step, now even closer to the Blood Raven, his foul stench burning down the respiratory tract like freezing water. "This is the mission you will not return from."

Seleucus lifted his lance, intending to finish him off. He was too slow. Cyrus drew the knife, turned the blade around, his arm briefly outstretched and slashed horizontally through the already injured abdomen, enlarging the wound. The possessed snarled in pain, not having expected the attack this time. Using the opportunity, Cyrus slashed upwards, his blade hitting the chin first and cut further diagonal across Seleucus' face.

He took a step back from the Scout Sergeant and never stopping for a second, Cyrus used the momentum and brought his knife down, hitting the stone spike with the hilt. The stone shattered and the spike broke, Cyrus dodging sideways, finally free, but forced to leave his primary weapon behind.

The lance missed him by mere inches, a lightning bolt following when he was about to leap behind an especially large conifer, leaving an impact crater in the ground next to him. A second however made contact with his foot, Cyrus snarling as the electric charge rushed through him, his body, still in motion, sliding into cover. He heard static from his radio, before he heard electronics disintegrating. Damn it. At least his cybernetic eye remained functional.

"Aren't you proud?" Seleucus shouted and Cyrus gritted his teeth in anger at his words. "You've taught us to survive, to think ten steps ahead and anticipate the enemy." Cyrus reached for his wound and pulled out a piece of stone that had remained in his flesh. It almost hurt more than the initial impact, his wound only getting larger. "To seek the opportunity and strike!" Another lightning bolt hit and the tree Cyrus had used for cover snapped into two burning pieces, the upper half tumbling down. "And now here I am; improved and free of chains."

The Scout Sergeant drew his Bolt Pistol and kept running. When the traitor lifted the lance anew, he fired his weapon, his bullets hitting tentacles, severing several of them, injuring the hand as well. It had stopped the initial attack, but now Seleucus was now running towards him.

"This madness is not what you were meant for. It could not be further from my teachings." Cyrus remarked seething, reloading as he continued to move between the trees, loud enough for his former student to hear him.

There was laughter and the Raven's blood boiled at the traitors next words. "You wanted us to be able to think for ourselves. I've merely been taking your teachings to their logical conclusions."

Seleucus, faster than an Astartes should be, had reached him and swung the lance, skilfully avoiding the trees. But Cyrus dodged the blade that had been aimed at his neck yet again, countering with his own, cutting into one of the lower arms. He then continued to deliver a kick at the injured abdomen, pushing the traitor back.

"I taught you reason so you could see the lies of Chaos for what they are!" Cyrus shouted furiously, showing his ire and frustration as Seleucus briefly stumbled. "Deceit and manipulation! You are nothing but a puppet for the powers we swore to fight!"

He blocked the lance coming from above, the flat side of his knife's blade against his own arm for support, lifted his pistol to fire again, when suddenly one of the wings shot forth. It only hit a pauldron, but the left, just above the injury. The thorn left a whole, thankfully not making it quite through, however the force of the impact knocked the sergeant back against a rock, the pain of his injury increasing. "And you're a puppet for a ten thousand year old corpse." Seleucus replied coolly. "Once I was drafted into his service, but now my decisions are my own."

Leaned against the rock Cyrus lifted his pistol, doing his best to ignore the pulsating pain. "So are mine."

The bullet hit the traitor's right eye, the head jerking backwards. The body swayed momentarily and then sunk to its knees. Cyrus felt his breathing calm slowly, anger and pain still burning in him. Was it done? He doubted it; this needed to be finished properly.

Suddenly Seleucus' left hand snapped around and the Blood Raven's body rigidified. No! His hands were opened by an unseen force, his weapons falling to the ground. He could feel his feet leaving the ground, leaving him hanging in the air, his limbs stretched out. Cyrus fought, but found he could not move a single muscle except for his eyes. He watched as the traitor rose to his feet again. There was no fear in Cyrus, only anger, his frustration and disappointment; in his former student, in himself.

Seleucus touched his empty eye socket, before he regarded the dark viscous blood on his claws. "Stubborn indeed." He moved his hand, Cyrus' body lifting further in accordance. He'd always known he'd die in battle, but he hadn't expected this and he steeled his mind for what was to come. If only he could have rectified this, made amends. May the Emperor forgive him. "You are hereby relieved of your duties…teacher."

A searing pain rushed through Cyrus' body, as if every fibre was being set ablaze and still paralyzed he could neither fight nor even scream. His body was being bend, bones dangerously close to either breaking or getting dislocated, adding to his agony. He could not even feel the wound in his shoulder anymore; it was too minor in comparison. Finally everything went mercifully black. The sensation of falling was the last thing he noticed despite the pain.

Just after he heard the sound of a weapon being fired.

* * *

Author's Note: To quote the Harlequins from Dawn of War: "The troupe is ready. The stage is set." I see you in two weeks, when Cyrus and Yaidev finally meet…


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III**

Slowly he returned to consciousness, the darkness he had been trapped in receding little by little. He felt his body as well as the pain that was clinging to every muscle and cut into his head. His ears picked up the first noises, most being typical for a forest, but there was also the quiet rustling of clothes.

His memories returned quickly once his senses were back; Seleucus, the strange force weapon, a brief fight…why wasn't he dead? Seleucus had him paralyzed and unconscious, so why leave him alive? To taunt him further?

Cyrus tested his limbs only to find them not only stiff, but also restricted. He was pinned to the ground. His eye opened, his cybernetic one reactivated simultaneously, the brightness of day welcoming him, even though the sky was grey and snow was still falling slowly.

He was exactly where he had fallen, however now he was sitting against a rock in a 45° angle, his arms and legs shackled to the ground and the stone by a bone-coloured substance, which was around his wrists and ankles, as well as his, abdomen, thighs and biceps. The Scout Sergeant didn't need to ask what shackled him as his eyes darted to a cloaked figure sitting to his left.

A cameleoline cloak was wrapped tightly around her slender body, a greyish Long Rifle across her back, partially covered with a diamond-pattern of green and brown, both perfectly suited to blend into the forest. The alien had noticed his awakening and met his glare with calm, dark eyes. Her mouth and nose were covered by a light-grey cloth, but now she pulled it down with a gloved hand and next removed her hood.

The dark grey, almost black irises had already been familiar, after all as a Blood Raven he had a perfect memory, but now there was no doubt. He remembered her face and crimson hair she had tied into a ponytail this time, with a few loose strands across her face.

"We meet again, Anastari." The alien greeted him, almost casually for an eldar, her face betraying no hostility or any emotion for that matter.

The Outcast from the alien temple on Karpos; he had not expected to cross paths with her ever again. Deathwatch seemed like such a long time ago, but she had not changed physically. "So it would seem." Cyrus replied coldly. He was already testing his shackles, but despite being so fragile looking, the wraithbone proved surprisingly sturdy. Well, it was no natural substance after all. If he wanted to be rid of them, he would have to remain diplomatic. She could easily finish him off, long before he had freed a limb, but it also meant that there was something she wanted from him. "Why are you here, eldar?"

"To offer my assistance." She merely stated in a matter-of-fact voice, as if her intentions were obvious.

He frowned. "Is that why I'm shackled to the ground?"

To his surprise there was a brief chuckle. "Only for my own safety." The alien assured him and then gave him a meaningful look. "As you no doubt recall, the last time we met, you attempted to kill me. It was just after we had defeated the daemon, despite me displaying no animosity as I tried to leave peacefully. Surely you will understand my caution." The eldar scrutinized him carefully. He gave no reply, but held the eye contact. "And surely, if you had been in my position today, you likely would have let me die and allowed the possessed slay me. **I** however believe we can help each other."

Cyrus remembered. The last thing he'd heard before passing out had been a high-energy shot. Yes, now that he thought about it, it could have been from an eldar Long Rifle. So, she had chased the traitor away.

Apparently she'd guessed his line of thought. "I was drawn here by the sound of battle and arrived when the daemon was about to kill you. Wounded as he was, he didn't put up a fight and vanished. I suppose he wasn't keen to fight with me so soon after our last encounter either."

His eyes narrowed. "So, you hunt him too." It wasn't exactly surprising, he'd already guessed as much, yet what could the eldar possibly be interested in; they despised Chaos, but they didn't risk their lives unless they felt they absolutely had to.

The eldar nodded. "Indeed; we first crossed paths almost two days ago, but he escaped."

"And what reason would an eldar have for hunting a traitor of my chapter?"

"So many questions." She mused with a ghost of a smile. "Fear not; I shall give you plenty of answers. Whether you believe any of them is of course entirely up to you. Nonetheless, I would like to see us both live through this encounter and we have a better chance of success, if we were to work together. Given your encounter I hope you will at least consider it."

When he gave no reply again she continued. "To your question: once, a long time ago, your chapter 'borrowed'." She gave him a meaningful look, an eyebrow raised. "A lance crafted by my kin. As a force weapon it reinforces the psychic powers of its wielder, which is presumably why the now former-Astartes chose it before he fled. Usually it would only work as intended for one who knows how to interact with wraithbone properly, essentially an eldar, but in theory any mortal psyker can use it to some degree."

"Mortal psyker?" There had to be a reason for that extra emphasis.

A nod. "Yes. As you may have noticed the fallen is now host to a daemon, though quite unusually he himself remains in control. I suspect this is so he can better interact with the wraithbone, which can repel the creatures of the warp to a certain degree."

"Merely for a weapon?" He wasn't expecting to be told everything, but this was unconvincing. While a force weapon, it had not seemed powerful enough to justify Seleucus' 'arrangement' with such a fiendish creature. "That is hardly a compelling reason." Cyrus pointed out coolly.

"Agreed, but I believe the lance is merely a means to an end." She lifted a hand, holding up three of her fingers. "There are a total of three gates to the webway on this world, two of them on this continent. Opening them requires training and practise and they are sealed so that no daemon or any none-eldar can open them, at least not without extreme efforts. It is my belief that the possessed wishes to enter the webway; his movements indicate that he is heading straight towards the gate in a valley north of us."

Admittedly, Cyrus was surprised. For an eldar to give such information and this much was unusual, almost unheard of. Then again, whether they were accurate was an entirely different question. For now he would play along and see what she would tell him; it was obvious that she was trying to win his trust. At least some. "And I assume he needs that force weapon."

She nodded once more. "The daemon provides the skill, as you would say, the Astartes performs the 'rites' and the lance provides the means and knowledge."

"How can a weapon provide knowledge?" Due to his time with the Inquisition, he already had an idea, though it was vague. Nonetheless he was just as interested in seeing how much she was willing to reveal to him.

The crimson-haired Outcast hesitated for a moment, her dark eyes thinning for a second, before her neutral expression returned. "Like with several unique weapons of my kin, a spirit stone is embedded into the weapon; in this case the soul of a Seer rests within it. The daemon no doubt is even now extracting the information necessary to circumvent the gate's seals." The way her brows knitted momentarily and the corner of her lips twitched at the last sentence, it was clear that the very idea appalled and angered her. "Should the daemon reach the gate and be able to open it, it would cause unknown havoc to both humans and eldar. I doubt I need to explain the significance of the webway to you."

"You do not." But the idea was troubling. If the Seleucus was able to enter it, he could reappear on an untold number of unsuspecting Imperial worlds. Of course the eldar would hunt him, but there was no telling when they would actually bring him down and what horrors he would have unleashed until then. If what the Outcast told him was true, he needed to find Seleucus soon. "So you are here only to stop him and return that weapon."

"If one of your brother's very soul was in the hands of such a creature, would you not reclaim it?" She asked in return, meeting his glare with a determined look in her eyes. It was plain that she would not abandon this hunt and at least this, he believed her.

"Is retrieval your only line of work?" He remembered that she'd been sent to return another spirit stone from Karpos, when they had first encountered one another.

She gave him a subtle smile, her features relaxing a little. "I'm more of an explorer, though I do the occasional assassination as well." The Outcast replied, however he could not quite tell whether she's said it casually or meaningfully.

Cyrus decided to ignore this for now. "If this mission is of such importance, why are you once more alone?"

Suddenly he detected a touch of sadness. "I came with two fellow Outcasts." Her voiced seemed lower than before. "One was slain by the beast." Her eyes closed briefly. "The other was wounded, but her injuries were too severe for me to heal, so she's no longer capable of assisting me."

Of course; the eldar would not have revealed herself unless she needed to. He was just a tool to lessen her risk. His eye narrowed, his tone becoming cooler once again. "And so you need me."

Naturally she picked up on his displeasure and she raised one of her brows. "If I may be so bold, we need each other, as I've hopefully elucidated."

Unfortunately his own radio had been destroyed, when the lightning had hit him and he couldn't afford a two days journey back to his brothers. He could neither call for support nor extraction. Begrudgingly he had to admit that she had a point. Of course her claims about the webway gate could be false, but he also couldn't afford to take such a risk. And even if Seleucus had another way off planet, there was just as little time, time he could not waste. His hands clenched into firsts. As much as it frustrated him, as much as he disliked the idea, it seemed he didn't have a choice, not if he wanted to stop the traitor.

After a few minutes of silent pondering, he gave her his decision. "Considering the circumstances, it would be for the best if we were to put aside our…differences for the time being. The traitor does take precedence."

While there wasn't a smile, the eldar seemed pleased by this. "So you agree to a temporary alliance?"

"Until the possessed has been slain." Cyrus clarified sharply. He would not tolerate this 'alliance' a moment longer.

"Then allow me to state my conditions. Whether you believe my words or discard them, I promise not to harm you while on this world and I will assist you however possible. Further I shall leave this world peacefully, if you allow me to take the lance and do not engage me after the fallen has been vanquished."

And again she referred to Karpos. It was true that she had shown no hostile intentions, until he had pointed his weapon at her and declared that he could not allow her to simply leave. Cyrus could not deceive himself and claim that it had happened differently. Whether she would have attack if he hadn't engaged her was impossible for him to say, the truth was that at the time she'd reacted to his threat. It didn't make her trustworthy, but there was a certain likelihood that she would indeed part peacefully should they survive this. It was probably for the best not to provoke her; besides, he was here for the traitor first and foremost. Regardless, he would remain wary of her.

"Perhaps it is also worth considering that it would probably be for the best if a 'tainted' xenos artefact was not found among your chapter's possessions, following the latest events."

Personally Cyrus cared nothing for that weapon. He didn't know how it had come into the Blood Ravens' possession in the first place, but it should certainly not return there. Such artefacts were always more trouble than they were worth and the Inquisition, which would keep a sharp eye on the Blood Ravens for future decades, more likely even centuries, would be less than pleased. If they were lucky, they would merely confiscate it, but it would raise questions, which the Chapter couldn't afford to be asked in these turbulent times.

It didn't seem too dangerous in itself, otherwise the eldar would have made a greater effort, instead of just three Outcasts, so perhaps the best option was to let the eldar take it and be done with it. The idea displeased him somewhat nonetheless. Cyrus considered the rest of her conditions. "You expect me to trust your word?" He finally growled, eye narrowed.

The eldar merely shook her head. "I know you fear betrayal, but if we are to work alongside one another, you need to trust me in some small manner." He trusted her to try to use him for her own ends or betray him in some manner along the way. "Remain vigilante if you wish; given our quarry that would actually be for the best." True; if Seleucus had become a rather powerful psyker due to the daemon within his flesh, stealth and surprise were perhaps no longer an option. And maybe he could call upon other creatures of the warp. "Do I have your word that you won't harm or attack me in turn and part peacefully in the end?"

He frowned. "Will you trust my word?"

"Of course." Her smile could almost be called friendly or amused. Or perhaps she was just mocking him. "If you were to break it, you would be no better than a 'filthy xeno' after all." Maybe that smile had been sardonic after all.

Cyrus had never been someone to break his word, but he had never given it to a xeno before. However it would be undeniably hypocritical to ally with her only to kill her later on. No, he would not stoop so low, not unless she represented a clear and present threat. As much as he disliked this situation, he went along with her proposal. "You have my word."

"My gratitude, Anastari." She bowed her head, her smile now truly friendly. "Now, to the final member." The Outcast whistled.

Another eldar? Cyrus growled angered and tried to move, though the shackles kept him in place; not even two minutes had past and she already changed the nature of their agreement? What else was to be expected of a xeno?

To his honest surprise it wasn't an eldar that appeared from out of the forest. It was an animal, a reptile build and coloured like a tiger, but with a dragon-like head and leathery sails along its back and the tip of its tail. It was certainly a little over three meters long from snout to tail and around one and a half meter tall. Armed with sharp fangs and claws that were only partially hiding in its paws, it was clearly a rather dangerous predator.

The animal looked at Cyrus with keen, yellow eyes, its sails risen, clearly suspicious of the Astartes. The eldar placed a hand on its long head, gently petting it. "This is Kurnous, a dragonhound and my loyal companion throughout my journeys. He will not attack unless you threaten me, so you have nothing to worry about. He's also an excellent tracker and will keep us on the right path, when we cross the mountains."

She turned to the reptile and spoke something in her own tongue. The beast that had been eying the Scout Sergeant warily, immediately relaxed, actually inclining its head curiously, sniffing. This mission had taken an unexpected turn indeed.

.,.

Yaidev eyed the Blood Raven carefully. His animosity towards her and his uncomfortableness about this alliance was very plain. She hadn't expected anything less; humans were taught to hate everything not of their own kin, though that principle was to a certain degree true to eldar as well.

Yaidev could sense how he watched warily her every move. He was a veteran, perhaps not quite as old as her, but he'd seen centuries of warfare. How many of his brothers had he lost to her kin, how often had he'd been led astray and lied to? Not to mention the eldar involvement in the recent conflict in the Aurelia sub-sector, which had lasted a little over a decade. And of course the previous, brief encounter between them personally.

The Blood Raven hadn't changed too much, since their duel in the temple. The same dark blonde hair he kept swept to the right side, but there one or two more scars on his face, apparently created by a sharp blade or claw. Most notably he was now missing his left eye, replaced by a cybernetic with a red lens and briefly she wondered how he'd been injured. Yaidev knew better than to asked of course.

Admittedly she herself was somewhat uncomfortable with this arrangement as well. Not out of principle; in her many centuries as an Outcast she'd worked alongside all kind of humans on numerous occasions. She still preferred her own kin to them, but the fact that he was an Astartes was not what bothered her.

Having fought and injured him, it was less likely that he would trust her, even though she had not started the fight and had spared his life. And she had no idea whether he was vindictive or prideful, both of which could make him turn on her the moment their alliance was no longer necessary.

In any case, his mistrust meant that if she made one wrong move, or even showed a hint of hostility, he would try to kill her for caution's sake alone. No, frankly she didn't quite trust his word, mostly because she couldn't judge him yet. All she knew was that he'd helped her against a daemon once, only to attack her afterwards; though perhaps that had been for caution's sake as well. She knew well of the reputation of her kin.

She would need to study him carefully.

It was also the reason she told him so much, more than she would usually share. If she appeared open and forthright, he would hopefully feel less threatened and be less likely to misinterpret her actions in the coming days. The Pathfinder knew he would never trust her, but it would be foolish to further nurture his suspicions and hatred.

Still, Yaidev had no doubt that she'd done the right thing. She required help now and could not risk to wait for the arrival of reinforcements. Besides, hunting the same prey, hers and the Astartes' paths would most likely have crossed either way and she'd rather had him on her side, than be on his lists of targets. The truth was neither could afford fighting the other. Perhaps he'd reached the same conclusion.

Well, then; they'd wasted enough time already.

.,.

With a gently push, the eldar told her pet to make room, before she turned back to Cyrus. "Now that we have sorted this matter out, I will release you of the shackles." She declared, reaching for something at her belt. "Please don't move too much for a moment, or attack me."

Cyrus grinded his teeth. Not that he was surprised that she didn't quite trust him, but it was somewhat insulting nonetheless. No, he should simply ignore this. Meanwhile the eldar had placed a small flute to her lips and began to play.

It was an admittedly pleasant tune, soft and calm, and as he looked down he saw that the wraithbone around his limbs was retreating, the shackles opening. The eldar stopped once his limbs and body fit through and she rose swiftly, but without haste, making room.

Never taking his eye off the xeno, Cyrus got back on his feet as well. He felt a tug in his shoulder, a little twinge of pain, but it was much less than he had expected. With a hand he examined the area hidden by his left pauldron, the eldar watching.

"While you were unconscious, I've tended to your wound." She noted, just as his fingers reached the hole.

This time Cyrus truly was astonished, his frown exchanged for an expression of genuine surprise. The hole did feel a lot smaller, which couldn't be explained by his own enhanced physiology alone. Was that why she'd been sitting at his side, when he'd regained consciousness?

"I hope you don't mind too much that I've not used my psychic abilities, but an herbal remedy instead." Cyrus was indeed glad that he'd not been subject to her witchcraft. He pulled his hand back and saw that on two of his fingers was a green paste, smelling strongly of fresh herbs. It was frankly a quite agreeable scent, replacing the revolting stench of corruption he'd followed for about two days. Meanwhile the eldar continued to explain. "They stimulate the tissue and prevent both infection and inflammation, though I believe the latter are of no or little concern to you."

It was of course an unexpectedly kind gesture. Or just another attempt to gain his trust? And she needed him in fighting conditions if she wanted to have him fight with or more likely for her. In the end Cyrus didn't give her a verbal reply and merely nodded.

"How long was I unconscious?" He finally asked, having noticed only now that it was getting darker.

"A couple of hours; it's evening now." The eldar replied; so much valuable time lost. As if she'd guest his thoughts, she turned north. "Depending on our pace, we could reach the mountain pass within a day and reach the webway gate in less than three."

Cyrus nodded and looked about. "Then we shouldn't delay. My weapons?"

"I've gathered and placed them behind those shrubs, Anastari." She told him and pointed at a leafless plant that surrounded one of the close-by trees almost completely, the highest branches reaching up to his chest.

"Anastari. You've called me that before, on Karpos." The Scout Sergeant pointed out as he walked to the shrub, his head turned just enough to see her as well. "I assume it is just another insult?"

"So quick to judge." She scolded him mildly. "Worry not; it's nothing of the sort. It is merely my people's word for 'raven'. Your chapter as a whole for example would be Haras Anastares."

His weapons were indeed where she'd said; sniper rifle, combat knife and Bolt Pistol. He began to examine them one by one. "How is it that eldar have words for animals, which live exclusively on human worlds?" Cyrus asked as he put the blade back into it sheath and picked up the pistol.

She'd walked closer so they could talk normally, but kept a respectful distance, as well as remaining in his sight. "Well, often when we must name something in your language, we simply use a term you're already familiar with. An Anastari of the eldar homeworld's native fauna would merely share distinctive attributes similar to your version, without being the same animal."

Cyrus didn't reply. What she said made sense and in the end, it wasn't really important. Anastari. He had no intention of providing his name, though there was the possibility that she already knew, depending on how closely she'd watch his Kill-Team on Karpos, when his brothers had addressed him by name several times. But Anastari would do for the duration of this mission.

"Of course the list goes on." The eldar mentioned, apparently not finished with her explanation. "One of my surnames for example is Sionnarie, which in your language I believe essentially means 'the Fox'." She tugged at a strand of crimson hair along her face. "A friend of mine believed the name would suit me."

Was she expecting him to call her by that name? He had no interest in her real name, though perhaps it could be useful for future references, seeing as she had apparently crossed paths with the Imperium on numerous occasions. Regardless, he would keep referring to her by the usual terms.

At last he picked up his sniper rifle, examining the well-tuned and immaculate weapon carefully. As he did, the alien addressed him yet again. "Those runes are not customary for Blood Ravens." She pointed out. "Another object you 'borrowed'?"

Cyrus frowned. "No; if you must know it was a gift."

"So it is often claimed." Was she chaffing him? "I've seen them on the armours and weapons of the Astartes, who call themselves Space Wolves."

"And it is from one of their number that I received this." He replied curtly, not wishing to discuss the matter further.

Form the corner of his eye he saw a ghost of a smile. "The psyker, who led your team on Karpos." She quickly concluded, more speaking to herself than to him. "Yes, who else would weave such blessings? From what I can sense they are well suited to our task."

Fine; if she was being this talkative, maybe he too could learn a few things. Knowledge was power after all and whatever she told him could possibly be of use at some later point. "Tell me; why does an Outcast carry the weapon of a Seer with her?" He knew that blade; it had slain the Slaaneshi-daemon on Karpos and injured him. He still carried the scar on his left side.

The eldar hesitated for a few seconds, her hand brushing over the hilt of the blade that she carried at her side. "I was once trained by a Farseer, before I became an Outcast." Her hand closed around the hilt, but she made no move to draw it. "I've kept the blade, as it was uniquely crafted to suit me. You have seen how well it deals with the creatures of the warp."

He nodded. "Indeed, but I was under the impression that the likes of you do not use psychic abilities."

Her dark eyes narrowed. "Ah, the alien hunters would of course know this. How many of my kin have you tortured to learn about the eldar I wonder."

The Outcast was not mistaken; much of what the Imperium, specifically the Inquisition knew about the eldar came from Outcasts they had captured and interrogated. As such the Ordo Xenos was perhaps most familiar with the Rangers, Pathfinder and Pirates of that elusive race. It was obvious how much this alien loathed the treatment of her kin by the Inquisitors, but after a few moments she continued, though for the first time her tone was truly cold.

"Yes, most use only as much as they need to interact with the wraithbone or the rest of our technology. I however was trained to use my abilities to a greater degree. Of course it doesn't match the skills of a true Seer, but so far has proved useful and sufficient. To answer what I assume is your true question; no, I'm not a Seer, Warlock or otherwise, not anymore."

He could have smiled. The coolness, the notion of aloofness in her tone as she spoke, was much more like the other eldar he'd encountered so far. Perhaps she was finally breaking her act of obligingness.

With all his weapons still in working conditions, Cyrus stepped towards the eldar, sniper rifle in hand though not pointed at her. She watched him with an unreadable expression, with no sign of fear or intimidation, despite him being free and armed, while she had her main weapon secured across her back. Like all eldar she was notably taller than a human, but he was still about a head taller than her and he had an advantage in strength. However considering their previous encounter, she was faster and more skilled in close combat; his strength was of little use, when he was unable to hit his opponent. How well she handled the Long Rifle he could not yet judge, though he doubted not that she was any less dangerous with it than the other Outcasts he'd encountered throughout his centuries.

"You said the gate was in a valley to the north?" He asked, attempting to appear as calm and neutral as possible; he still needed her as guide after all.

The eldar nodded curtly. "Yes. The only way from here is across a mountain pass, which is treacherous now that winter is coming. Otherwise we'd have to backtrack for several miles and cross the mountains at another location or take a fjord at the opposite side of the valley."

They had surely no time for neither. "You know the way?"

She frowned, almost as if she was a little insulted by his question. "I've studied maps and it is likely the fallen is going to take the pass as well, so Kurnous will be able to lead us directly to it."

Having heard its name, the reptile appeared next to its mistress, head lifted to look at her. Once more she placed a hand on its head and turning away from Cyrus kneeled down. Crouched at its side she spoke to it in her own musical tongue. As soon as she was finished, the dragonhound threw its heads up, sniffing the air, nostrils flaring. The sail along its back rose, shivering, creating a sound that reminded the Scout Sergeant of leaves caught in the wind. And without warning it started to run.

Swiftly the eldar turned back to the Blood Raven. "Let our hunt begin."

Cyrus narrowed his eye briefly at her words, as she started running after her pet with inhuman speed. But he followed them. He followed them deeper into the forests towards the mountains looming in the north.

* * *

This was such an unexpected turn. Yaidev had a lot of time to think as they followed the daemon's trail, ever getting higher. The snow blanket was growing, the ground beneath their feet now covered with a white layer, which seemed to grow thicker with each step, as snow was constantly falling from the grey clouds above. Night and the following day passed without incident and with hardly a word spoken.

Even when they talked, their sentences only consisted of a handful of words, exclusively concerning their direction and tracks of their prey. They didn't sleep, instead taking only a few short breaks while Kurnous was looking for the right trail, searching an area for the daemon's scent. Thankfully Yaidev had become quite well-conditioned, her endurance having increased over the centuries, due to her lifestyle as a Pathfinder. It wouldn't be the first time that she'd spend days without true rest.

Her eyes briefly looked to the Astartes, who was running a few meters to her left. He too showed no signs of tiring and Yaidev knew from experience that his kind could fight a battle for days if need be without sleep, food or even water. Even his wound didn't seem to bother him much, despite the heavy-looking weapon in his hands, or maybe he didn't let it show. Of course the herbs she'd used were strong, but his enhanced biology surely had cleaned most of it, if not all out of his system by now. While she didn't know very much about the changes a human went through to become one of the Lossainnes, the effects were rather plain, like their remarkable resistance to poisons and drugs, or their improved healing; his wound had not even bled anymore when she had started to tend to it.

Yaidev thoughts returned from her digression to her original thought. This mission had taken a strange turn. That of all Astartes she could have encountered it was the one she'd met many years prior. How small the universe seemed sometimes.

Having been a Seer, she of course knew that such coincidences weren't unheard of and it had been over a century since Karpos. And of course she knew why she'd been chosen. The Farseer, who had given her this task, had not wanted to spill more eldar blood needlessly, not after the debacles during the Aurelia conflict. Yaidev had declined participation and she had a reputation of sparing members of other species, as well as occasionally working together with them. She'd been a suitable candidate for a task that had meant to be without any sort of engagement with the Blood Ravens unless absolutely necessary. Slay the fallen in possession of the soul and artefact, and return them. But had one of the threads the Farseer had followed revealed this contingency?

She should have known that things never were that simple.

And now she was hunting with a man who'd tried to kill her, with only his word as reassurance that he wouldn't slay her once the deed was done. It didn't exactly inspire confidence in Yaidev. Thankfully he had shown no additional hostility towards her so far, except for his obvious distrust and overall dislike of the situation as a whole. Perhaps disgust or abhorrence was a better fitting word.

Over the course of the day however he apparently came more and more to accept the circumstances they found themselves in, his bearing becoming more and more neutral, though his eye never lost the look of wariness. Of course it wouldn't, but at least she felt easier; it didn't feel like that sniper rifle would swing her way at any moment, though she naturally didn't feel safe either. Still, at least the tension had lessened and Yaidev welcomed it.

Yaidev thought back and remembered the exchange between him and the possessed, at least what she had heard upon her arrival. It was clear that the two knew each other, apparently he had trained the now traitor once; to him this hunt seemed a very personal affair, more than to Yaidev, even though she wished to avenge Feluhiem's death. But she couldn't allow such motivations to dictate her action, it was too dangerous.

One thing however was clear to her; this hunt would not end until one of the Astartes was dead and she would have to be mindful not to end in the crossfire.

* * *

By evening, a day after their alliance had been made, they found themselves deep in the mountains and at the pass the eldar had mentioned. There was no vegetation around them; they had passed the last trees about an hour ago and the last shrub, half buried in snow was now behind them as well.

Around them were only mountains of grey stone, covered with an ever growing layer of snow, their tops hidden in the clouds. Even to Cyrus it was uncomfortably cold, the snow and approaching night impairing his sight.

Both the eldar and her pet were in front of him, the former's cloak billowing in the wind. Before them was a path along the mountainside, maybe just broad enough for two average humans to walk side by side. The yawning chasm left of the road reached down hundreds of meters, though the bottom was hidden from sight in these weather conditions.

As they kept walking, Cyrus noticed that the path itself seemed to be partially natural, partially artificial, stairs having been carved into the stone at some locations, the steps having been abraded by countless winters. They needed to tread carefully, as not all were covered by snow and shimmered with ice instead. One wrong step and he could fall into the chasm.

He slung his sniper rifle across his shoulder, so that he had at least one hand free should something happen. Most of the time however his feet merely sank into the snow, the wind howling mournfully around them, trying to push them back.

The eldar meanwhile seemed to have no true problems, her feet barely leaving any footprints, though her pet left broad holes with its paws. So far she had spoken the truth and he had not detected signs of any other eldar, which naturally didn't that truly no one was watching them.

Frankly he didn't quite expect betrayal until Seleucus was dead, otherwise she wouldn't have bothered to save him or tend to his wound. The latter still puzzled him, though it made sense to have him in a condition that would allow him to fight properly. There was no honest kindness between man and eldar, only mutual hatred. He carried his fair share.

For some time they ascended a curved staircase and the wind became more powerful, while the snow was beginning to impair his vision significantly now, forcing him to squint his eye. In moments like this he was actually grateful for his cybernetic. The sky was turning black above them and almost all light was gone by now.

Squalls attacked them, some strong enough to force the eldar and the dragonhound to stop and even Cyrus felt how they were pushing him back. This was turning into a blizzard. The alien was now keeping very close to the wall right to them, her steps significantly slower than before, her head lowered. The same was true for the dragonhound, though it could not place a hand against the rock for additional support.

The freezing wind was biting into his skin, his limbs becoming stiffer. Damn this weather; it would only further delay them.

At a particular narrow point, his foot suddenly met an layer of ice beneath the snow. Cyrus lost footing, his boot slid sideways. He snarled and tried to stop, when another squall hit, keeping him from catching his balance. As his slipping foot approached the edge, stone broke loose beneath it and tumbled into the chasm. Just before his foot and leg could follow, Cyrus managed to shift his weight and pushed himself back to the wall, his hand clawing at the rock, more of the path breaking off next to his feet.

The eldar had apparently noticed this and turned around, the cloth protecting her face white with snow. A while ago she'd additionally put on what he could best describe as goggles with emerald lenses. She descended a few stairs so her voice wouldn't be carried away by the raging wind, though she still needed to shout. "We shouldn't continue on in a blizzard; the mountain pass is too treacherous and we could easily get lost, if we're not killed first! Perhaps it would be best to seek shelter until the worst has past!"

The eldar had a point. On these icy and thin paths, travelling was certainly not without its dangers on clear days, but in this storm, falling to one's death was near inevitable, especially now that night was almost upon them. And a break would allow his wound to heal further, which was protesting against his constant movements more and more. While he wanted to spend as little time as possible in the eldar's company, continuing right now would be foolish.

The alien continued. "There should be a plateau not too far ahead; there might be a suitable location in the shadow of the mountain!"

Cyrus merely nodded, somewhat irked to have to agree with her yet again, and the eldar turned around, continuing the ascent. As it turned out she'd been correct about the plateau. They reached a small plane after a couple of minutes, the wind now attacking them with full force due to the open space. Cyrus could see that the staircase continued on along the mountain on the other side of the plateau, but for now he was more focused on examining the area only using his cybernetic eye, which could see even in the twilight of the storm.

Thankfully his search was not in vain. "There is a cavern in the mountainside!" He called to drown the wind as best as possible.

She turned to look to where he was pointing. "I see it!" For a moment she seemed to examine what appeared to be the only available shelter around, before she looked to the skies with a worried expression, judging from what little of her face her could see. "It seems sufficient and the worst of the storm should soon be upon us!"

Cyrus got walking, heading straight for the cavern and spoke once she was just behind him and almost out of his view. "Then why do you delay?!" He asked her, seeing from the corner of his eyes that she was apparently curling her lips a little behind the cloth, as the wind pressed it very tightly against her face, though it was very hard to tell in these conditions.

They left the path and crossed the plateau, moving away from the stairs to the opening in the rock face. As it turned out, cavern had probably been too generous a term, as it was more like a cove in the stone. The Astartes needed to lower his head to get inside, but the ceiling seemed to be just high enough to allow him to stand straight at the very center. In its entirety, the nearly oblong room was about fifteen square meters wide, some of it apparently created not by the elements, but humans instead, the marks of their tools along one of the walls.

There were also black markings on the ground and ceiling, evidence of a fireplace. It seemed they weren't the first travellers to make camp here, but who knew how long it had been since the last people had taken shelter in this place.

The moment he walked in the wind almost completely ceased and was gone when he reached the wall opposite to the entrance. The eldar and her pet followed him in, the beast shaking off the snow. Cyrus sat down at the wall at the left side of the cove, where he was furthest from the entrance, while the eldar did the same at the right side. The animal lay down next to her and she covered it with her cameleoline cloak, exposing her wraithbone armour fully for the first time. It was mostly light grey, the knee-high boots apparently made of light brown leather, same as her gloves. She also appeared to be wearing some sort of coat, the cloth of a darker grey than her armour, the sleeves reaching to her elbows.

She took off her hood and goggles, placing the later on top of her head, upon her crimson hair. Her Long Rifle came to rest next to her against the wall, same as her Witchblade, though he could see that she was carrying other weapons, at least one shuriken pistol and an additional dagger. Resting a hand on her pet, the eldar remained silent, while Cyrus removed the snow that still covered him, before it could melt and drench his clothing.

He looked outside where the storm was raging, before he truly settled down and leaned against the cold rock behind him. Cyrus closed his organic eye and tried to rest, though he wouldn't sleep, not with an alien around, attempting to gather as much strength as possible. He would need it soon enough. Still, Emperor given, this night would hopefully be short.

* * *

Author's Note: Meanwhile on a nearby mountain pass, a fellowship including four hobbits decides that it might be better to go through the mines instead…

For those wondering, Cyrus' and Yaidev's first encounter is described in "From Oblivion", a shorter story of mine. It won't be necessary to read it to understand things here, but for those interested, feel free to check it out, I'll be back in two weeks.

Good news for those of you reading "Pathfinder" as well; the next chapter is essentially finished and if I manage to edit in time it should be updated around September 8th.

If you have any questions, concerning my story/stories, characters or lore in general, don't hesitate to ask.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV**

Yaidev continued to pet Kurnous, his long head now across her lap, making him purr like a tiger. She smiled at this and leaned back, her wraithbone armour and coat thankfully protecting her from the cold touch of the stone. The wind howled loudly, ever raging with all strength. This weather posed a problem, but cursing it would not let it pass any faster and so she waited with all the patient she could muster. Fortunately she still had a few rations with her, mostly consisting of small pieces of bread and dried fruits, as well as pellets for her dragonhound.

It was night by now and at some point Yaidev looked up to the Astartes; only her keen eyes allowed her to still see despite the lack of light. His beard was still white with frost, his normal eye closed, likely to protect it from the harsh conditions, while his cybernetic one shimmered ruby in the darkness of their shelter. She wondered whether it was seeing into the storm or watching her; likely both.

She got her answer moments later. "Should you not focus your attention to what lurks out there?" He suddenly asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"You watch me as well." Yaidev retorted calmly. "And considering our past, I believe my wariness is at least as justified as yours, if not more." She saw his healthy eye opened, when she continued. "And additionally, why save you, only to betray you right away? I could have let the daemon slay you, or kill you while you were unconscious, but instead I tended to your wounds. Logically, you can trust me until we've hunted down our prey. For what happens afterwards, I can only give you my word."

His features only show an expression of disdain, as if she'd mocked with what she'd said. So narrow-minded; it could be frustrating sometimes. "In my experience the word of an eldar is worth very little, or indeed nothing."

"Let me assure you; I don't fight humans unless I deem it necessary and see no other way."

Cyrus frowned. "Is that so?" He asked, his tone suddenly mild and it was strangely a little more troubling then his open display of resentment. "As you have already mentioned it, I mustn't remind you of a certain encounter in a temple many years ago."

"The one where you attacked me?" She asked friendly, but certainly provocatively, a smile appearing on her lips. "I do remember it well."

His eyebrow twitched, yet everything else remained unchanged, a hand now resting against his left side. "Then you will also recall that you were the one to inflict the only injury in that fight."

Her brows rose. "The one on your body or your pride?" Yaidev asked teasingly in return, still smiling.

The Scout Sergeant seemed to ignore this and continued, his voice remaining calm. "You could have simply blinded me right away and escaped, if you truly were so unwilling to fight."

"I did blind you." She briefly interrupted to remind him.

"After you had engaged me and drawn blood." The Blood Raven noted in return. "Certainly you can see the conflict with your statement."

Yaidev shook her head briefly. "Without the wound you would have certainly pursued me, continued our duel or at the very least hunted me. I couldn't risk that; your injury was necessary." The Pathfinder replied in her defence and there was something almost apologetic in her dark eyes, though her soft smile did not quite vanish.

He raised his healthy eyebrow, clearly not convinced by her words. "Of course." He noted quietly, almost sarcastically. Humans.

Yaidev was of course not naïve enough to think that she could overcome centuries of instilled hatred with one or two deed and a few words, but she loathed to be seen in such a false light. Originally she'd been of Saim-Hann, a Wild Rider and as such her honour and integrity matter a lot to her. To be thought of as an unfaithful coward, a treasonous manipulator. It was more insulting to her than any simple term in his or her tongue could be. Perhaps it was petty and she shouldn't care about what a human thought of her, but something deep within her could not let it be, like an itch in the back of her mind.

Besides, there was little else to do while they were waiting for the storm to pass and perhaps the right words could increase the chances of this arrangement ending peacefully between them. Additionally, she was curious about his reactions; such knowledge could eventually prove helpful.

.,.

For a moment Cyrus thought that this would be the end of their brief exchange, but it seemed the eldar thought otherwise. "Believe me, Anastari, I'm very different to most eldar you have met before." She pointed out after a minute or two of silence.

He gave no reply, his back still leaned against the cold stone, his weapon well in reach. Naturally he didn't feel inclined to listen to an eldar's ramblings, but on the off-chance that she let something slip, he let her talk, which she did after noticing that she was getting no response from him.

"Those of my kin living on the craftworlds throughout the galaxy usually don't come into contact with humans outside of war. They know you only from the battlefield, slaying their brothers and sisters, murdering, torturing, bringing Exodite worlds and even craftworlds to the torch. And those of you fallen to Chaos inflict even greater horrors. Our hatred for you is well founded and goes well beyond superficialities."

Cyrus almost said something, when she seemed to compare him to a traitor, but he remained silent, his ire kept hidden. Other than that he could find no falsehood in her words. While he himself had never partaken in an invasion of an inhabited Exodite world or even craftworld, Cyrus of course knew of such campaigns. That the eldar were justified in their hatred due to such deeds was understandable, though he had no sympathy for them. How many brothers, how many humans had lost their lives thanks to their manipulations? The Emperor himself named them enemies.

The Outcast shifted as the dragonhound lifted its head to yawn, its large jaws opening wide enough to present every single one of its dagger-like fangs. "But I have left the craftworlds behind many centuries ago. I'd wished to learn more about the races we share our universe with, not for sympathy, but curiosity. Most of my time I have travelled alone, exploring the corners of this galaxy and hundreds of worlds. When the tau were still new I visited one of their colonies and lived peacefully among them, even fought with them. I will admit that I was also asked to gather intelligence on the tau, though I suppose I took it further than initially intended."

The Blood Ravens had already encountered the tau on a few occasions. They were a unique enemy, given that they fought alongside other races and disturbingly even with humans in their ranks. It was despicable that some would leave the Imperium for the hollow lies of aliens. He had heard excuses of having been forced to join, while others claimed to have grown sick of the corruption within the Imperium of Man; they had merely taken the path of least resistance. Pathetic. It were such acts that allowed corruption to spread and weakened humanity further.

However Cyrus couldn't dwell on these thoughts, since her next words caught his attention. "And I watched humans, came to see what they were like among themselves, seeing all from 'heresy' and crime to close-knit families and acts of great mercy. I also visited a human world that had been separated from the Imperium for countless generations, never having encountered another species in all that time. Though they were wary of me at first they showed me hospitality and treated me with great kindness."

He'd never heard of something like this before and decided to press her on the subject. "You lived on a human world?" Most of him could not even imagine it. Or maybe didn't want to. How could it be that so many humans accepted to live alongside xenos?

Her smile returned, apparently satisfied that he had re-joined the conversation and he scolded himself briefly for encouraging her. "Yes, one that was forgotten by the Imperium centuries, if not millennia ago. But the people there are quite content and have been spared the horrors of war. And of course without the influence of your Imperium no one tried to shoot or burn me, which I greatly appreciated. Despite their lack of technological advance, they were very cordial and allowed me to study them...I dare say I have spent more time living with normal humans than you."

Cyrus clenched one of his fists. Of course as a Space Marine he spent little time among civilians; it simply wasn't his place anymore. However what she was indicating made him vexed. She may have spent significant time on that world, but she what did she know about the people of the Imperium? Eldar arrogance.

Apparently she noticed his irritation, as this time she continued without much of a pause. "And I have many times found myself fighting alongside humanity in the past, assisting Inquisitors, Rogue Traders and even other Astartes against common enemies."

What other reason would there be? As if an eldar would ever help a human without it benefiting itself in some manner. In any case the Outcast seemed to have spent a significant time among species other than her own.

It would explained her language skills and perhaps why she showed less of the haughty nature the eldar were so infamous for. Perhaps the very behaviour she tried to display now, what he judged to be played candour, had helped her interact with some members of the Inquisitions or the rather independent Rogue Traders. Cyrus wondered how they had fared. Had she betrayed them like most of her ilk would?

"I've seen many sides of your kind, the horrible and the benign. While I have no love for humanity, I do not collectively hate you either. I've gained…perspective, for better or worse, and I see things in much more grey now. So, while I will not hesitate to fight your kind, whenever they threaten my brothers and sisters, I will not needlessly harm them or bring death to innocent citizens." Her gaze softened. "It was one of the reasons I declined participation in the first Aurelia Conflict."

His eyes narrowed. "When your 'kin' lured orks and tyranids to our recruiting-worlds." He pointed out coolly; it was a deed he would not forgive them. All those lives lost.

The eldar looked at him as if she was studying him, but what she said then surprised him. "I was among those, who disagreed with Farseer Idranel and her council. Some suggested instigating a war between factions of orks; I believe such would have been well within our capabilitiesand and it would have required less intervention from our side. Less risk for our people. But it seems that aside from saving a living craftworld, the Farseer sought the the one hidden beneath Typhon as well and simply seized the opportunity. And now in three conflicts, hundreds of my people were slaughtered, with little technology and hardly a spirit stone secured. It was a waste of lives and the craftworld on Typhon was ravaged by the guns of the Ordo Malleus."

Cyrus had been on Typhon when the Exterminatus had started. The lush jungle had turned into a desolate, hellish landscape, with fire rising from below as well as falling from above. It had still burned upon their return a few days later, when they had battled the eldar one last time. He remembered their devastation, but the Blood Ravens had shown them no mercy, destroying the last gate into the webway. Never again should the eldar set food on that world, especially not after all they had done to the chapter, the Aurelia sub-sector and her people.

The look in her eyes and her voice seemed cooler when she continued. "Even though your chapter is responsible for many of those deaths, we were the ones who brought the tyranids and orks to you and started the conflict. And when the Seer Council attempted to delay the inquisitorial fleet, they told you not of their true intentions, or that Kyras was never on Typhon, but immediately engaged you in battle." She shook her head with what seemed to be disappointment, perhaps sorrow.

Truthfully the killing of the Council was a deed Cyrus slightly regretted. Not because of sympathy for the aliens, but for the consequences. However the Outcast was correct; the eldar on Typhon had never revealed their true intentions, in fact the eldar in general only tended to do so, if at all, once their plans had already fallen apart. Tartarus was another such example. Despite claiming to be the most sophisticated and intelligent of the sentient species in this galaxy, the eldar could act remarkably foolish. Perhaps their arrogance was to blame in part.

When the Outcast remained silent for a while, eyes averted, Cyrus re-joined the conversation, his voice low as he spoke. "You are remarkably self-critical for a xeno." The Scout Sergeant noted. Another thing he'd noticed by now was how he actively needed to remind himself time and time again that she was certainly not sincere. She couldn't be, but she played her act very convincingly, he gave her that much. Almost good enough to be believable.

"I have seen too many of my kin die, too many endeavours fail." She replied quietly her gaze still lingering on the ground to her feet. "And I have gathered far too many spirit stones throughout my centuries. You could say that I've become somewhat disillusioned. That is why told you everything I know of the fallen we pursue; I will not allow pride or arrogance to risk the lives of my kin or this mission needlessly."

This was not the reason he'd expected. Cyrus had of course assumed that her openness had purpose to further her ends, but her motivations were unusual to say the least. Eldar tended to strongly believe in their superiority, often clinging to their schemes until the bitter end.

But he himself was a veteran and had become much more cynical over the centuries; he was all too familiar with fallibility. That an eldar, who was possibly older than him had made similar experiences shouldn't be surprising. He flinched inwardly. No, he shouldn't make such comparisons; it would only humanise her. And despite their resembling reactions to those experiences, he immediately set about stifling that unwanted wisp of emotion he sensed.

"Sadly a friend of mine took a different path and while he criticised the Farseers, I think he allowed hatred for your kin to cloud his judgment. When he learned that it was Kyras, who was in the possession of his sister's spirit stone his mind was set."

There had been a few Outcasts, but only one name. The Outcast known as Nemerian had been killed, when the tyranid invasion had just begun, while another had continued to harass the imperial forces, though Cyrus had never learned his name. Perhaps it was he the crimson-haired eldar spoke of.

"I feared he would go too far in his pursuit of revenge. It is dangerous for us Outcasts to give in to such dark motives, which is why I try to avoid...to hate with the passion most of my people share." She paused and then sighed, seemingly troubled by something. "I'm not even sure if he succeeded, though he was there when Kyras was defeated."

This got his attention. "He was on Cyrene?" Had the eldar followed them, or merely waited nearby for the right opportunity?

Meanwhile the eldar nodded. "Yes; while I haven't seen him in years, others told me of his ventures and intentions."

Begrudgingly Cyrus had to admit that the Outcast's dedication had been quite commendable; then again eldar were known to take high risks when protecting their own. Then he remembered something else. "You said that such pursuits are dangerous for the likes of you, that you avoid them. Why?"

The Outcast didn't answer him immediately; whether she was debating to tell him at all or if she was merely contemplating her explanation he couldn't say, until she took a deep breath and lifted her head to look at him once more, sadness lingering in her dark eyes.

"As you may know, our souls are far more at risk than those of humans, due to our closer connection to the Sea of Souls. Daemons thirst for them. It is for that reason that on craftworlds we are guided by the Paths, focusing on single task until we reach near perfection and move on. This mental discipline keeps us save. But we Outcasts have left those Paths, leaving us dangerously exposed; you ever feel the vulnerability of your very soul, which is why most return to the craftworlds after some time. For this reason we are also only briefly welcomed on board our former homes; we are akin to dangerous beacons, luring dark presences to the shielded sanctuaries of our people. Only the most disciplined among the Ranger, those who withstand temptation and whose willpower remains strong can hope to become Pathfinders, those of us who remain Outcasts forever. And so Pathfinders like me must quell the darkness within ourselves alone for the rest of our lives."

Pathfinder; he'd heard of them, their reputation, but until now had not known how they truly differed from Rangers. It was more than just experience as it turned out. If what she said was true, how long had she spent travelling this galaxy? No wonder she appeared so different from the majority of her kin.

She continued with her explanation. "Should we too often and overly give in to temptation, like lust, passion, be it of sexual or violent nature, we can at a certain point essentially lose our souls to that darkness. It gets torn away piece by piece, leaving the afflicted hunger for more extreme sensations and even the suffering and souls of others to stave off their own consumption. Essentially, those afflicted become dark eldar." A cruel fate indeed; was that the reason she showed no real hatred towards him. Was she quelling her animosities towards humanity to keep herself safe? His thoughts were interrupted by her next words. "I've already lost one I called friend to this darkness."

For the briefest of moment he could see regret and frustration and once more that unwanted sensation threatened to emerge. It was a strange how familiar this was; it would seem they all had their traitors. No, he shouldn't thinking like this. "You are rather…communicative, eldar." He noted calmly instead.

"I told you nothing humanity isn't already aware of." She countered, her expression turning neutral again. "At the very least the Ordo Xenos is, which you were a part of. I'm certain you knew much of this already, so I merely put things into perspective."

She was not mistaken; he had learned much of her ilk during in time with the Deathwatch, most provided to elaborate tactics. Only the extent of the dangers their souls faced was truly new to him. And of course her own personal motivations and reasons.

"I assume that is the reason most Outcast refrain from using their psychic abilities." Cyrus concluded, yet it begged another question. "Then why would someone deliberately teach you to use them?"

There was a tinge of surprise, quickly replaced by a subtle smile. "It was a Shadowseer." She answered speaking with a touch of fondness in her voice. "I'm close with a Harlequin Troupe and travelled with them for some time. They've taught me much about the art of fighting, especially the ways of the blade, but the Shadowseer offered to foster my psychic abilities, strengthen the defences of my mind and soul, so I could use at least a little of what I'd learned on the Paths even now."

Cyrus was no psyker himself, but was aware of the grave dangers; for her, the training had to have been extensive. At least librarians wore a psychic hood to bolster their defences.

She reached for her Long Rifle, which had been leaning against the wall close by and briefly Cyrus tensed. "They were most generous. My first Long Rifle was destroyed in a battle I fought alongside them. The artisans of the Harlequins personalized a new one for me, a token of their appreciation, you could say." Almost affectionately the Pathfinder ran her fingers along the diamond-pattern. "To honour it and all they had done for me, I named it Truatha Cegorach; Cegorach's Mercy."

"Cegorach?" He'd never heard this name before and he had only encountered the Harlequins once, perhaps the strangest of all eldar.

"The Laughing God." She explained. "To this day he undermines and intrigues against the Dark Gods and the Harlequins are his servants, ever fighting the Great Enemy."

Cyrus merely nodded, but gave no reply. It became silent in the cavern once more and the howling of the wind outside became more noticeable. How long until they could continue the hunt? They didn't need to wait for the end of the storm, only until it had weakened enough.

The Blood Raven closed his normal eye and leaned his head back, his cybernetic one still on the eldar, who had put aside her weapon again. His shoulder at least felt better, know that he'd rested. He'd felt it throughout their journey, protesting every now and then, but he'd simply ignored it. After all these centuries he and suffering were very well acquainted with one another. Besides, he had endured a lot worse before and not only survived but continued to fight. The Apothecaries had not always been delighted about that.

With the cameleoline cloak wrapped around himself, he rested as well as he could, listening to the wind and the aliens. The Pathfinder too had decided to rest and though her eyes seemed completely closed, he doubted that she was unaware of what happened around her.

The night passed slowly, giving him plenty of time to contemplate all he had heard and eventually the sky turned from black to dark grey. Was the sun rising somewhere beyond the bulwark of clouds? It still remained dark in the cavern, but if he was not mistaken the wind was not as loud anymore.

A few hours after closing it, he reopened his eye, finding the lid stiff from the cold.

It was indeed brighter outside, just like his cybernetic had measured and less snow was falling. More importantly though, it was falling slower, without getting tossed around as much. The snow blanket had become higher, significantly so, but they weren't trapped. The wind had probably carried much away, given that the plateau was relatively exposed.

He heard movement and when he turned his head saw that the eldar had risen to her feet and was walking towards the exit. She stopped a meter or two in front of it, keeping herself out of the wind's path and placed a hand on the low ceiling.

"The worst seems to have passed. Perhaps we can move on soon." She suggested hopefully; apparently she too was eager to move on.

Cyrus nodded. "Good; we've wasted enough time." He growled, praying that Seleucus had not yet escaped them.

She looked over her shoulder. "I wouldn't deem our conversation a waste, but we've certainly lost precious time. Hopefully this storm has delayed the possessed as well."

He narrowed his eyes had her first sentence; it had been…informative, but he was troubled by the effect some of her statements had had on him. He of all people should know better than to feel even the slightest wisp of understanding for something like her.

The eldar turned fully to him, displaying a contemplative expression. "The one we hunt." She began softly. "He was your student once, wasn't he?"

Abruptly he clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. "That is none of your concern, eldar." He snarled venomously, his bitterness showing.

Now it was her eyes that narrowed and she folded her arms in front of her chest, evidently unimpressed by his reaction. "If it's going to influencing the coming battle, it becomes my concern. At least to a degree." She remarked coolly before her voice softened, becoming calmer again. "Anger and a need for revenge make us reckless, which is why during the past day I've been clearing my mind. I wish to see him dead for killing my comrade, but I will not let this desire guide me. I've trained myself to deal with these feelings. Otherwise I certainly would have been forced to return to the Paths or would have lost my soul."

Was she trying to lecture him? That this alien even presumed to do speak to him like that and with such insolence. He stayed quiet for a moment, regarding her with a mixture of annoyance and a touch of puzzlement. What exactly was she trying to accomplish? Even if she wanted him to trust her to a degree and work with her, why be so personal? Fine; if she wanted to play it like that. "Which is why you try to be so...'objective'." She had said as much earlier.

Now he got confirmation. "In part, certainly." She confessed. "As explained earlier, I have no love for humanity; too much of our blood have you spilled, too much pain and suffering have you brought to us and your Imperium preaches hatred towards anything not human. But in turn I acknowledge that after ten millennia of countless conflicts, you also now have more than enough reasonable arguments to abhor us. There is no denying; I've seen too much to believe otherwise."

Was she once again she criticising the actions of her own ilk in front of an enemy? Did she truly feel that way? There was truth in what she said about the Imperium after all. How could she tell him so much and yet be the most puzzling of her ilk he'd ever met.

Her eyes darkened. "And I've even been betrayed by my own kind. We may value the lives of our own more than many other species, we may deem ourselves above all others; but we are not beyond the darkness within us all. We can distant ourselves, but we can never escape. There is no white; only black and countless shades of grey." Her gaze was back on the storm and filled with sorrow. Betrayed by her own? Perhaps he shouldn't be too surprised, considering their fickle nature. Or was she merely referring to the Outcast, who had succumbed? "I've answered many of your questions, but you have not answered mine."

Cyrus had no desire to oblige. "You know the answer already." She had been there in time to save him; it made sense that she'd heard at least some of the exchange between Seleucus and himself.

She turned back to him. "And even without my keen senses I could see the turmoil raging within you." Was that supposed to be…sympathy? Impossible. "I do not ask for curiosity's sake alone, I ask because it could endanger both our lives."

Usually he was someone who dealt with such internal conflicts quietly, keeping to himself. In the rare cases that he'd wished to talk, he'd turned to only a few of his brothers, like Tarkus, or the Salamander Nadim, when he'd learned of Cyrene's fate while still with the Deathwatch. But an eldar? The idea alone was too absurd for him to even consider. And yet so much had bottled up within him, things he'd refused to deal with, because other matters had required his attention, matters far more important than personal feelings.

He hadn't ignored them, but they remained unresolved, festering. He sometimes felt tired and not in a physical sense. The problems of a long life, one filled with war and death. Cyrus almost chuckled mirthlessly at his next thought, noticing the similarity to the eldar's words; they were above humanity, but not completely beyond them. Yes, killing became very simple, fear was virtually unknown, and yet Astartes still shared so many of the flaws that plagued mankind. If they didn't, temptation by Chaos would not be such a threat. If they didn't, there would not have been the need to slay half their chapter. And he wouldn't be here to hunt one he'd once called brother.

"What makes you think I would share my thoughts with you?" His voice was low and despite his anger he kept it steady.

"Nothing, it was merely a suggestion given what is at stake. Sometimes things need to be addressed out loud to clear the mind." She unfolded her arms and spread them just a little. "And given that I'm only a 'filthy xeno' you won't care about what I think of you."

He didn't give a damn about her opinion, even less about what she thought he needed. He had enough of her enquiries. "You already know that he was once one of my students, just like most of my brothers. I've known him since he was recruited, merely a decade old, taught him to fight, to survive. Taught him so he would become a virtuous servant to the Emperor." Now he too got to his feet and he walked straight towards the eldar. For the first time she seemed slightly uncomfortable. "And now he's betrayed all; the Imperium, the chapter. He's twisted my lessons to serve his own selfish ends. Is that what you wanted me to say, eldar?"

.,.

Yaidev knew that she'd gone too far when he approached her, hands turned into fists, his eye flashing with ire…and pain. She had seen this kind of pain before, with eldar and men alike. What they had in common was that they all had lived through countless wars and seen too much death.

Kurnous was growling behind her, but with a gesture she ordered him to stand down; she couldn't let this escalate.

The Blood Raven had nearly reached her and quickly Yaidev tried to calm the tense situation. "I meant no disrespect, nor did I mean to anger you. It is just that I now of pain; I understand…"

She never got to finish her sentence. "What do you know of me, Outcast?" He spat viciously, standing so close now that she needed to look up. "My homeworld burned when I was with the Deathwatch. On Kaurava imperial Guardsmen, men like those I've found myself fighting for and alongside with numerous times, killed hundreds of my brothers, nearly all of my scouts. I watched them get torn apart, maimed and burned by weapons meant for xenos and heretics. It was a slaughter caused by pride and incompetence! And now, only a few years later our own Chapter Master corrupts half of those who remain!" Even his frost-covered cybernetic eye seemed to burn with rage now and with a finger he pointed at his chest. "For the past decade I have killed those I once called brothers, men I have trained! Men **I** 've raised! They were **my** responsibility!"

Startled by his sudden outburst Yaidev stepped back. Had she just unleashed more than a decade worth of frustration and anger? His breathing was faster and heavier than before, rising as steam to the ceiling, his body tense. But his last words had changed something in his expression, his anguish and grief now clear for her to see, far less hidden than before. Just like with her, the influence of the Warp uncovered emotions, things that would have remained buried and hidden otherwise. It would be that way until they left the daemon's fairway. Otherwise she doubed she ever would have seen this.

His hand lowered, as did his shoulders. "I was meant prepare them, protect them…" His voice became quieter, anger more and more replaced by sorrow. "And now I'm their executioner."

They looked at each other, the wind creating the only audible sound, though he was still breathing deeply. Then his eye widened, only a little but noticeable enough, his breath halting for but a moment. It was as if he only now realized just how much he had told her. He had revealed more than he'd ever intended and he regretted his moment of carelessness.

And Yaidev realized something else too.

This was more than recent losses. She saw such pain in him, pain long supressed, wounds on his soul accumulated over centuries and never fully healed. He had seen war after war and each time he'd watched those at his side dying while he survived. Yes, Space Marines could take all this and more, but that wasn't the same as remaining unscathed. She had seen it, if only from afar; some became remarkably devout, others dove into their hatred, while others still became more and more detached, losing their emotions.

The Scout Sergeant seemed to belong into the latter category, yet perhaps only outwardly. She doubted not that he could take life without any true emotional reaction; that was part of his life, what he was raised to do. But it seemed to be a different story when it concerned his own kin. He seemed so…protective.

Perhaps that was a side-effect of training the youngest of his chapter. Unlike many he got to know every boy, who was to become a battle-brother. He guided them through their first years and battles. What had he said? He raised them. To a degree that was likely true. And he was mourning. He was mourning the closest thing someone like him could ever have to a family.

And Yaidev felt pity. She felt sympathy for him. Athari.

This was one of the reasons why she didn't hate humanity as much as most of her kin did. She had been among men numerous times and she had seen moments like this. Looks behind well-kept facades that allowed her to relate sometimes just the tiniest bit to these strange people. A foolish sentiment perhaps, but one beyond her control.

They were more than just savages, more than murderers. At least among each other, some of them could be more than that.

Even a Losseainn such as him. There was more to him that a single-minded warrior.

.,.

Cyrus couldn't say how long he looked at her only that it felt like an eternity. He was such a fool. He had allowed emotions to overcome him and said far too much. It didn't concern her, not an alien. Those were his burdens.

Somewhat ashamed of his outburst he turned away and stepped back, though he did not quite return to where he had sat. Instead he placed a hand on the wall next to him, fingers almost clawing at the stone. He shouldn't let himself be affected like this. He closed his good eye and gathered his thoughts.

After a few minutes he heard her voice, low and soft. "Forgive me, Atharu Anastares." To his surprise she sounded honest, or perhaps she was merely intimidated. "I did not mean to bring up such painful thoughts."

There was silence at first. "Atharu?" He asked quietly at last, refusing to look at her. There was no hint of aggression in his voice, if anything he sounded tired.

"The infinitive 'Athari' is the term for 'father' in my language. I called you Father of Ravens." He frowned. "It seemed a suitable description." Father. No, it wasn't suitable, not after what he'd allowed to happen. He wasn't worthy of any such title, not even in her language. He gritted his teeth; was he wallowing in self-pity now? Pathetic. "But you could only guide them; the decision was theirs and theirs alone in the end."

At first he showed no reaction to her last words, and then Cyrus sighed. Out of principle alone he wanted to disagree with her, but a part of him told him that he would only be fooling himself, because in the end, certain things were out of his control. For centuries he'd done his best to shape the young initiates of his chapter, teach them as much as possible within a decade…but he couldn't understand for them, he couldn't draw their own conclusions for them. In the end he could only offer his lessons, never certain what and how much they would take from it. And pray they would not discard these lessons later on in their lives.

He was forced to admit that she was right. The betrayal had been their decision and on the other side, many others of his former students had remained loyal as he himself had. All he could do now was carry on, learn from past failings and do all in his power to prevent such a tragedy from repeating itself.

But first there was Seleucus.

Cyrus turned his head, not to look to the eldar, but to examine the conditions outside. It was a little brighter now and the wind was even weaker, weaker than during their arrival on the plateau. Good.

The Scout Sergeant recovered his sniper rifle, his gaze lingering on the runes for a moment and he remembered Volund's message that had arrived with the weapon. _I think you will be needing this, old friend. Rumours of Aurelia bubble even on Fenris, and the runes cast your fate in misfavor._ When first reading it, Cyrus had wondered if it meant that death was finally upon him. Now he wondered if it also could have referred to years of hunting his former students and the turmoil it brought him, the feeling of betrayal and guilt, worse than any physical injury. Perhaps not even Volund had known.

He slung _Cunning of the Night Wolf_ over his shoulder and walked towards the exit. His voice was low when he spoke, watching the snow fall. "The storm has calmed down enough; we should move on."

Without a word the eldar gathered her own gear, joined him with the dragonhound and they stepped outside.

* * *

Their progress in the first hour was slow. The wind was still strong and the stairs continued to lead upward, but at least they were stepping on snow, the ice now covered by a thick layer that went up to his knees. Thankfully the Pathfinder hadn't spoken all this time, once more walking in front of him, her pet taking the lead.

Eventually the cloud ceiling got thinner as time passed on, it got brighter and there was less and less snow falling, though it never completely stopped. Only the wind remained, however it no longer put up a fight, merely strong enough to keep their hair back and their cloaks billowing behind them.

And then they reached another plateau. This one however was considerably larger and connected two mountains with one another, huge rocks sticking out of the snow like islands in a white sea.

The dragonhound led them further, across the plateau and towards the neighbouring peak. When they were at the highest point near the center, Cyrus could see to the other side of the mountains for the first time.

The light of dawn had not made it there yet, but his cybernetic eye told him all he needed to know. He looked down into a wide vale, just as the eldar had described, low hanging clouds crawling up the mountainsides. Far north, near the horizon, he could see the fjord she's mentioned, but otherwise there only seemed to be trees.

Soon after they began their descent, the path apparently continuing at the other mountain. At first they had some trouble finding it in the deep snow, but then the dragonhound suddenly ran off. The eldar seemed just as surprised as Cyrus, but neither hesitated, both running after it, sending snow flying.

After a few hundred meters, at the top of a staircase, it stopped and sniffed at something in the snow, before it threw its head up, growling, the sail on its back flaring. Cyrus stopped next to the eldar, who was kneeling down, though it wasn't necessary to see what the animal had found. There were large footprints, already starting to get covered by the ever falling snow, but still clearly visible. And the claws left no room for doubt.

"The possessed must have been here only recently." The Pathfinder pointed out, examining the depth of the prints. "He must have been delayed by the storm as well. Given the rate of precipitation, I doubt he's more than four hours ahead."

So they had gained on him; finally some good news. Cyrus looked down the path ahead, seeing more footprints in the snow, before the stairs disappeared in the clouds, which were still slowly moving up the mountainside. The Pathfinder petted her animal briefly as she rose to her feet, before they resumed their pursuit.

Back in the shadow of the mountain again it was darker, almost deepest night. While the path itself was broad, at least significantly broader than on the other side, there were several overhanging rocks above their heads. Due to the snow still being fresh, some of it tumbled down from time to time, which in itself was nothing to worry about, but a clear warning nonetheless. In these conditions an avalanche was an all too real threat.

Soon they found themselves in the clouds, the air moist and without his cybernetic, Cyrus would have walked blindly. Even the dragonhound with its tiger-like colours disappeared in the fog and since the crimson-haired Pathfinder had re-donned her hood upon leaving the cavern, she was near invisible.

At a cliff both she and her pet suddenly stopped once more, but Cyrus didn't ask why. He heard it too; something else was moving through the snow. Warily he looked to the mountain, regarding the myriads of possible trails along the rock face, accessible to anything with some climbing skills.

The eldar moved to a large, separate rock that was taking up a third of the cliff and peeked around it, down the staircase. The sound returned and now it clearly came from the mountainside to their right.

Feeling too exposed on the wide cliff, Cyrus stepped closer to the rock and the aliens in his company. The clouds made it impossible to survey the area properly. More sounds; whatever lurked out there, there was more than one. Somewhere stone was cracked, as if shattered by something sharp.

And then there was a howl, unnatural, raspy and shrill, echoing in the cold air.

Cyrus frowned, his ears actually hurting a little from the strange noise. "Wolves?" He knew they didn't sound like this, but it was the closest match he could think of.

"Not quite, but the term will suffice." Either she could sense something he couldn't, or she was merely referring to the local fauna, which he was admittedly unfamiliar with. Briefly she closed her eyes. "They have been tainted. If we needed any more proof that the daemon came this way it will be here shortly."

Cyrus regarded the mountaintop, looming above them, partially hidden beyond the cloud. "I believe we'll be forced to use knife and blade; the snow is already unstable as it is." A single shot could be enough for desaster.

The eldar drew the Witchblade, her Long Rifle now secured across her back. "Agreed, though my own shuriken pistol should be quiet enough as well." She took the slender pistol with her left hand and detached herself from the rock, though remaining close.

He merely nodded in acknowledgment, drawing his own combat knife, keeping his left hand free. Now he would see how trustworthy the eldar truly was.

* * *

Author's Note: In DoW2: Retribution, _Cunning of the Night Wolf_ is one of the weapons you can receive near the end of the campaign. What you've seen in italic is essentially the in-game weapon description, and it was additionally said to be covered with runes for extra damage again Chaos Space Marines. When I learned about Volund, it was too late to put him into _"_ _Victoria Primus"_ , but I've put him into two of my other Deathwatch stories and he just might show up in the future as well…


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter V**

At first nothing seemed to be happening. Only the ever present wind and the crawling clouds around them stirred. Then they heard them again.

Something was moving through the snow, much closer now. The eldar shifted into a different stance, her pistol lifted, sword ready to strike. Cyrus remembered that blade well.

The Witchblade she carried with her was double-edged, designed so she could optinally handle it with one or two hands. The blade itself shimmered like nacre, while the hilt was of the same colour as bone, adored with a few azure gems. And it was sharp enough to cut through his armour.

His gaze didn't linger on the blade for more than a second or two, a feral snarl directing his attention back to the mountainside, where something was running downhill, having just emerged from the thick mist and from between the sharp rocks.

The beast was at least as big as the dragonhound, perhaps higher in build, but it was stockier. It was rather massive, with its compact torso and hind legs that were somewhat shorter than its four front limbs, making the back sloped downwards. It also had a much shorter, more canine head, resting on a thick neck.

But the influence of the warp had changed it; Cyrus could identify them easily, despite having never seen these animals before.

The once greyish fur was getting more and more replaced by shimmering feathers and scales. Three crooked horns grew from its skull and the tip of the snout had become beak-like. Additionally, at least two paws had transformed into bird-like talons.

Baring its sharp fangs, the canine beast slipped down the last meters to the path, keeping perfect balance thanks to its six limbs. It was in a crouched position now, ready to leap forth.

The eldar fired.

Almost soundlessly the pistol spat about half a dozen thin disks, hitting both head and torso of the tainted animal. The razor-sharp shuriken cut deeply into its flesh, most getting stuck somewhere inside the body, but one cut off part of the skull, the beast's head flying back. The body collapsed in run, blood leaking from multiple wounds, turning the snow beneath it dark red.

But even before the body was still, another shade leaped out of the mist, probably from one of the protruding rocks. It landed on the one on the cliff, just next to them, jumped anew, but to the Astartes' surprise over the eldar.

Cyrus readied this blade, just in time as the animal leaped at him. Talons dug into his pauldrons, two paws on his chest-plate with claws exposed, as its disgusting slobber dripped down from yellow fangs. The weight and force of the attack actually forced him to step back with one foot, his boots digging into the snow, Cyrus gritting his teeth. With one arm he kept it at bay, but his blade was already stuck in the animal's chest, thick blood running from the wound into its fur and feathers. Only now could he see that there were additional eyes on its body, yellow as sulphur and piercing like those of daemons. And each was staring at him.

In its death throes it kicked out with its hind legs, the other four continuing to claw at his armour to no avail. Meanwhile four more of those creatures appeared. The Pathfinder shot one, but another used the time she needed to reach her. It leaped at her, the eldar managing just in time to bring her blade around, severing three of its front limbs.

The next tried to attack her as well, yet while it was in the air, the dragonhound tackled the demonic canine. Clawing and biting, they weltered in the snow, each trying to pin the other down, teeth flashing.

Cyrus however was still occupied with his, as the beak-like snout snapped at him, though strength had left the beast, blood still spilling from the wound. He turned around and with the arm he'd used to keep it at bay, he now threw it off. Claws lost their hold, leaving behind deep scratches on the carapace. Only about two or three meters behind him had been the edge of the cliff and the animal, howling in pain, disappeared into the abyss beyond. Perhaps it would be dead before ever reaching the bottom of the vale more than a hundred metres below them.

As soon as he was rid of it, Cyrus turned back, just in time to see that the other one, the one she had crippled, wasn't dead yet.

The thing was holding on to her. With disgust Cyrus saw that tentacles had grown from the stumps of the three severed limbs, which had wrapped themselves tightly around her legs. He couldn't say whether it was trying to crush her limbs or pull her down. Its jaws snapped at her, eager to tear flesh and crush bones. She lifted her sword to finish it off.

However Cyrus had no time to interfere, as the next leaped down from above, jaws open wide. The Scout Sergeant managed to catch it by the throat and he brought it around, slamming the animal to the ground. Bones broke audibly despite the snow and just as he was about to bring his blade around, the thing opened its mouth again, the lower jaw splitting up. A thick, blue tentacle-like tongue emerged, wrapping itself around his right arm.

The carapace-glove protected him, but the fabric starting at his elbow was too thin. Something like thorns emerged from the sucker cups, pierced fabric and his skin beneath, the sharp pain making him flinch, but the combat knife came down regardless. It entered the skull between its eyes and the body started to twitch. Unfortunately the tentacle-tongue contracted powerfully and the thorns in his arm twisted painfully.

"Behind you." Her voice had been next to him and from the corner of his eye he saw the Pathfinder by his side.

The Witchblade shimmered brightly in the twilight as it was swung downwards; at first Cyrus thought it came for him. And then it beheaded a canine that had attempted to leap at him from behind. Its head flew past him, landing in the snow to his feet, the body twitching as it collapsed to the ground. For a moment he couldn't hide his surprise.

But she wasn't done, having turned her back to him, to deliver a kick to yet another animal. With unnatural swiftness it tried to dodge, the eldar hitting its shoulder instead of its head and its jaws closed around her leg. The Pathfinder hissed in pain as fangs punched through leather and wraithbone.

Cyrus hadn't wasted time either and with his weapon switched to the left hand, had cut through the tentacle-tongue. While the disgusting thing was still around his arm, he wasn't attached to the canine anymore. As soon as the other beast's fangs went into the eldar's lifted leg, punching through her boot, Cyrus whirled around, knife returning to his right hand and jabbed his blade into the canine's neck. Now standing right beside the Pathfinder, he grabbed the animal's jaws with both hands.

He tore them open again, freeing her leg, breaking its skull in the progress, before he took his knife again and pulled it down, cutting through the neck to make sure it stayed down. The eldar had shifted her weight to the unhurt left leg and gave him a nod, her expression hidden by the cloth covering half her face.

Close to the rock they had initially sought cover behind, her dragonhound was still fighting. Both animals were standing only on their hind legs now, clawing at each other ferociously. The eldar's pet however had slightly longer limbs and so the canine only managed to scratch the torso and the limbs themselves. Apparently furious about this, the tainted beast tried to snap at the large reptile, its blue tentacle-tongue lashing out across the dragonhound's snout, leaving bleeding punctures.

Yet it seemed her pet possessed some cunning; as soon as the canine's neck was closer, it moved backwards as well as it could on its hind legs. The canine's body lowered as a result and the dragonhound suddenly threw itself at it. Once on top, it bit deeply into the neck. Unable to support the additional weight in this awkward position, the beast fell, the dragonhound pinning it down, paws on head and shoulder.

What followed was a loud crack and the beast's body lay still.

However they could only enjoy a brief break. Quickly Cyrus tore off the tentacle around his arms, flinching as the thorns cut through his flesh and skin one last time, the fabric partially torn and having turned from bone-coloured to red. The eldar did the same at her leg; while the wraithbone had protected her from the thorns, it had not stopped the sharp fangs at the other limb. Crimson blood, a little darker than her hair, was now running across the smooth leather of her boot, though he could see that it too was reinforced by wraithbone plates. Still it hadn't been enough.

Shadows emerged from the mist, standing on the rocks along the mountainside, looking down at them on the cliff. How many were still lurking out there? Standing side by side, both he and the Pathfinder waited for the next attack.

And then they howled.

It was a loud, screeching noise, echoing unnaturally as if each beast howled with more than one voice. It was utterly uncomfortable, colder than the air around them, but that was not the problem.

At first Cyrus heard low rumbling from somewhere above and the ground beneath his feet shivered. Damn those beasts. "Run."

The eldar nodded, needing no further explanation; she had probably come to the same conclusion as he. They put their weapons away and she shouted a word in her own language. The dragonhound understood as well, rushing down the path towards the vale without a second of hesitation.

Cyrus and the Pathfinder followed swiftly, with him reaching the stairway first. He followed the reptile, often leaping over several steps at times, his feet threatening to slip more than once. The rumbling noise behind them became louder, as if a thunderstorm was after them.

Briefly he dared to look behind him, seeing that more canines were following them. Those things had been ordered to kill them; this was no natural hunting behaviour. This would suggest that their mutations were deliberate, not merely a side-effect. One had almost reached the eldar, but to Cyrus' astonishment, and that of the beast, she suddenly did a backward somersault. Reacting too late, the canine was beneath her while she was in the air and head-down she swung her blade, her hood slipping. The Witchblade cut through the neck, its head rolling down several steps. She landed behind the body, but immediately sunk to her knees, a hand on her wound. Not a good sign.

Fortunately she managed to get back on her feet before the other beasts reached her and despite the pain she tried to catch up with him and her dragonhound. The snarls of the remaining beasts were beginning to get drowned out by the thunderous noise from above and behind them.

In front of him the path eventually took a sharp turn, the dragonhound having to slow down tremendously to get around the corner. Cyrus was right behind him, his boots sweeping snow off the edge as he made the turn. Behind the corner the path continued on, but here it was narrower and covered by an overhang, icicles hanging from the edge. Still, this place provided just what they needed.

"Stop!" To his surprise the dragonhound listened, maybe it was merely reacting to his voice, as it turned around and looked at him attentively, head lifted. Only now it seemed to notice that its mistress wasn't here, the sail on his back beginning to sway restlessly, something like a whine escaping its snout.

With a hand ready at his Bolt Pistol, body close to the wall, he looked around the corner they'd come. The eldar had fallen behind further than he'd assumed and at least four canines were after her, gaining. There was no point in being quiet anymore; if he aimed carefully he could kill or cripple them.

His fist clenched momentarily. Emperor; was he truly considering to help this eldar?

Not even a full second later his thoughts were interrupted, as a white tidal wave made its way down the path, emerging from the mist and clouds with the sound of roaring thunder. The beasts were simply swept away by the avalanche, disappearing in the raging snow, any potential noise downed out. Part of the wave flowed into the abyss, but more than enough rushed down the stairs.

The Pathfinder had almost reached the corner. Only a few more steps.

"Anastari!" For the very first time, there was fear in her eyes.

It took her by the feet first, rose to her hips and he saw her sink into the white stream up to her chin, the eldar desperately reaching out with a hand, her crimson hair in stark contrast to the snow. One more second and she would get pulled over the edge.

A part of him told Cyrus to let it happen. Centuries of fighting xenos, two of them in the Deathwatch had instilled great hatred within him. But at the same time he was too experienced to simplify matters into pure black and white. He needed her to defeat the daemon, to catch up with him before Seleucus could leave this world.

And perhaps most troubling of all, he was already indebted to her. She had saved his life a few days ago; without her, he would be dead and the daemon would have disappeared into the night. Besides, he had agreed to work alongside her. How could he claim to be more virtuous than the eldar, if he was the one breaking his word? And today she had been injured while defending him yet again; that was the only reason she was in danger right now.

Damn this.

Just before her head sunk beneath the snow, just before she was dragged over the edge, Cyrus reached out.

And managed to grab her.

His hand closed around her outstretched forearm and he saw her trying to do the same, though her hand was too small, her fingers slipping to his wrist. She clung to him, but her head disappeared in the snow nonetheless.

The power of the avalanche was now pulling him towards the edge as well, Cyrus gritting his teeth, his boots digging into the snow beneath his feet. The moment he had her, he swung her body sideways, knowing he couldn't compete with the force of the snow directly. It was still great enough to pull him further and Cyrus sunk to one of his knees, a bit of stone beneath it breaking off and tumbling down into the vale below.

Fortunately the sway had helped and he managed to get her away from the rushing snow, getting her parallel to the path he was on. Only now, with his left hand taking hold of her arm as well, he pulled her up and towards him, getting back to his feet simultaneously. He stepped back, away from the edge and when she was close enough, put his right hand on her waist to slow her down again.

Her feet touched the ground in front of him and he immediately let go. As she sank to the ground, breathing heavily, he stepped further away from her, increasing the distance. Beside them the avalanche was still rushing down into the abyss and just a moment later, more came from directly above them. Fortunately the overhang protected them, allowing him to watch it fall like a white waterfall. The icicles shook, Cyrus eyeing them warily, but thankfully they all remained attached to the cold stone.

The dragonhound meanwhile suddenly ran to the eldar, nudging her cheek with its snout, leaning its body against hers. She chuckled and petted it gently, fingers running over its snout and back. With a comforting voice she spoke to it in her own musical tongue, calming the animal, which began to purr with a deep tone. It was an undeniably loyal pet.

The Pathfinder opened her eyes again and he saw and expression he'd never seen from of her kind. "My heartfelt thanks, Anastari."

Gratitude. Once again her words surprised him, his body tensing. Frankly he wasn't quite sure how to respond, having never heard an eldar speak those words before. And it was not a deed he wanted to be thanked for. Instead he looked away and to the vale below, then to the path leading down. "We need to find a more secure location to tend to our injuries." Cyrus simply noted, making sure his voice betrayed nothing.

From the corner of his eye he saw that after a few moments of silence, she smiled knowingly and nodded. The eldar rose to her feet, the dragonhound remaining by her side, watching her attentively. She spoke to it one more time and once again it led the way, though slower than before. With a small gesture of his hand, the Scout Sergeant told her to go first; given that she was the slowest due to her injury, she should set the pace for now.

As the avalanche finally ended, the three of them descended further into the vale. Soon they were out of the low clouds and found themselves just above the treetops. Both deciduous trees and conifers grew here, the former still having leaves and the temperatures got significantly warmer. Was this vale protected from the harsh conditions of the weather by the surrounding mountains, prolonging the changing of seasons?

As Cyrus looked upon the ocean of gold and red that was stretching across the entire landscape, he briefly looked to the Pathfinder in front of him, an unbidden thought entered his mind. _My heartfelt thanks._ The unnerving truth was that a part of him was glad she was still alive and he hated himself for it.

* * *

Yaidev let her body sink to the ground, he back against the trunk of a tree, which still had plenty of golden and red leaves left. A few minutes ago it had started to rain and now countless raindrops were patting the leaves, the morning remain rather dark and grey, though at least the vale proved warmer and far more comfortable than the mountain pass.

Her leg was burning, though thankfully the wound was hardly bleeding anymore. Carefully she began to loosen the light wraithbone plates, slipping out of the damaged boot. Frankly she hadn't expected the fangs to be quite that sharp. At least the tentacles had only left a few marks on her armour and cuts in her pant leg.

The mutation they had witnessed had been more than a minor taint; the animals had been deliberately changed by the powers of the warp, likely to kill or delay them. And those beasts had purposefully created that avalanche, with no regard for their own lives. That was no natural behaviour.

Kurnous meanwhile was licking his wounds, remaining close to her, resting his body on a soft, if wet bed of moss. The tentacle of the canine he had fought had left little holes across his snout, and scratches were on his front limbs and torso. Fortunately they weren't too deep, as he had managed to keep it at bay with his longer limbs.

Yaidev took out one of her runes and placed the other hand on her injury. Even through the glove, she could feel a strong pulse and warmth from her leg. With even and deep breaths, Yaidev began to clear her mind. Everything around her faded and she could feel her lungs moving, her heartbeat slow down. More and more she became aware of every fibre in her body, felt the extension of her wounds, the blood vessels that had been severed. And she felt the powers she could call upon with her mind alone and reached out to her rune, the dam at the edge of that vast sea. Carefully she allowed some of the energy to flow through this dam, humming a peaceful melody as she did, in order to further focus her mind.

Flesh, vessels and nerves grew and reconnected, several times faster than at normal rate. She couldn't command her body to do anything it was incapable of; to force her body to do anything unnatural was not only dangerous, but far beyond her skill. All she did was stimulate her cells to grow and divide quicker, work more effectively.

Yaidev continued for a few minutes until she felt that everything was closed again. It would take some time until the fresh tissue would lose its scar-like appearance, but it would be foolish to use too much of her energies for completing the healing process with her powers. She needed her strength. She hadn't slept since leaving the webway and fought twice since then. If they continued shortly, perhaps today would see the end of their hunt; it would not end without another fight.

She closed the dam again, regaining awareness of her surroundings. Kurnous had finished cleaning his wounds and seemed to be asleep, or at least be resting with his eyes closed, while the Blood Raven was nearly done cleaning his blade, his rune covered sniper rifle resting next to him against a tree. Yaidev immediately noticed that he was watching her, his eye switching between her and his work, but it didn't worry her.

She put the rune away and examined her handiwork. White, round marks remained of the wounds the fangs had inflicted and satisfied with the results she put her boot back on. Yaidev looked back at the Astartes again. He had only received scratched, small punctures as far as she knew, one of his sleeves torn and bloody above his right elbow.

Her eyes wandered to his hands. He'd saved her, pulled her out of that avalanche. A part of her had feared he would not. Did that mean that her forthrightness had made a difference?

Out of curiosity she tried to guess his age, which was always difficult with Space Marines. Normal humans were simple, at least for her. Most didn't get older than a century, though it differed greatly, depending on the planet. Ever children; only the oldest of them could perhaps be considered adults by eldar standards, but they remained so very young in their eyes.

The same could usually be said for their minds. Supressed by their culture and religion, their horizon hardly ever seemed to extend over their homeworld or perhaps sector and the majority of humans wasn't even aware of the aliens they shared this galaxy with. There were very few exceptions. Maybe it was for the best. How could their young minds hope to understand the complexities and cope with the horrors of the cosmos? What did the humans say; ignorance is bliss?

Others among them, such as Inquisitors, Rogue Traders and yes, some Space Marines had a better chance to gain greater understanding, not simply because they weren't restricted by a mere century, but because of what they witnessed, decisions they had to make and actions taken. They were among the few, who could see the greys beyond the simple constructs of black and white, if they were willing. If only more were; most seemed to refuse.

The Scout Sergeant was certainly several centuries old, though she doubted he was as old as her. Perhaps it was the prejudice that almost every single human was a child in the eye of the eldar, but he didn't struck her as being a more than a millennia old. But he had seen much and somehow he seemed tired, not physically, yet she couldn't shake the feeling that the endless war was wearing on him. Yaidev was well aware that the Imperium was slowly but steadily shrinking and with what his sector, his chapter and by extension he had gone through in the past decade, it would certainly have been impossible to remain unaffected. How many of his own had he seen die, turn traitor…or killed himself? It was reasonable to assume that the dead he'd known outnumbered his living brothers.

His outburst in the cavern had made it perfectly clear that those past events had affected him deeply. Perhaps it was due to one of her greatest faults, her fascination with other species, that she sympathized and pitied him. And perhaps it was because to a certain degree she could relate.

She had been betrayed; one she'd called friend and fallen to the darkness and caused the deaths of fellow eldar, while another had attempted to kill her because of his own short-sightedness and a vague, unproven prophecy, slaying the Rangers at her side and forcing her to kill her own kin. The loathing she had felt for the one who had forced her hand and herself for not preventing that tragedy.

And through the centuries she'd seen countless of her people die, gathered too many spirit stones. Even if the Losseainn despised her, even if he would rather kill than work with her, her empathy didn't allow her to return those animosities to the same degree. She could have laughed at her own foolishness.

Yaidev's eyes wandered to his chest, where his stab wound was partially hidden beneath the pauldron. It apparently hadn't hindered him in battle, but it certainly wasn't completely healed by now, even though Astartes recovered remarkably fast.

"How is your injury?" Yaidev asked nonetheless, placing a hand on her own chest, near the arm for emphasis. "I hope it hasn't reopened during the fight. If you require more of the salve, there is plenty."

At first he said nothing, before he put the blade back into it sheath. "I require nothing." His voice was still cold, but it seemed a good sign that he hadn't used any insults. Even his tone didn't seem venomous, unlike a while back.

Yaidev merely nodded and turned to Kurnous, calling him to her. Obediently the dragonhound opened his eyes and approached, head tilted as he look at her attentively. One by one she began to examine his wounds, which to her relief were indeed mostly superficial; his leathery scales had proven to be quite protective once more. Still, keeping her own boots in mind, it was fortunate that the tainted beast and never managed to bite him.

She put some of her salve on the deepest of his wounds, his body flinching every now and then, but he waited patiently. Once Yaidev had tried to use her powers on him as well, only to learn that he panicked when she did so. Perhaps it was his instinct to fear the unnatural powers of the warp, and so she had never tried again.

Yaidev looked up from her work, when the rain intensified, more now managing to reach them through the ceiling of branches and leaves. At least it would wash away the stench of the beasts.

.,.

Calmly Cyrus watched the Pathfinder as she took care of her pet. The rain was tapping his armour, beginning to drench his clothes, but it didn't make him uncomfortable. He was used to far worse conditions and he had spent days wandering through the rainforests of Typhon…before the Exterminatus.

The eldar looked up to the sky once, apparently unbothered by the weather as well, her crimson hair turning darker, now matching actual blood or wine. He continued to observe her, still feeling somewhat conflicted about saving her earlier.

Usually eldar were…simpler. They didn't hide their hatred or arrogance and one could be certain of the inevitable betrayal. Mankind was a tool to them, primitives, whose lives meant nothing. And yet there she was, having taken care of an injury she'd received while helping him, offering to tend to his wound.

By now the hole in his upper chest was almost completely healed and even the fighting had caused little to no pain, despite the strain. Whatever herbs the salve contained, it was certainly proving effective.

His thoughts returned to the cavern, the many things she'd told him. She seemed so remarkably sincere and he wondered how much of it was true. If anything was. Well, this was perhaps his last chance to learn more. "Last night, you said you were betrayed by one of your own." It had certainly been one of her stranger claims, sounding like something made up to earn sympathy.

She looked at him with the hint of a frown, as if she could hear doubt in his voice. "I didn't think someone like you would be surprised by that." The eldar noted dryly.

He narrowed his eye, his voice almost freezing cold when he replied. "I'm familiar with your kin's treachery; I've been on the receiving end of their schemes, but that they would turn against one of their own seems rather strange."

To his surprise the eldar sighed at first. "It is a rare occurrence to be sure." She replied sombrely, her voice low. "I come from the craftworld known as Saim-Hann, home to the Wild Rider clans, but sadly also infamous for her willingness to fight other eldar, when it's deemed justified. The clans form allegiances or act as rivals, thankfully mostly on the political stage, yet regretfully there is bloodshed involved at times. Usually more dire conflicts, sometimes even with other craftworlds, are solved by duels to first blood, rarely lethal, but there have been battles in the past."

Cyrus had never heard of such a confrontation. He knew of the hatred between craftworlds and dark eldar, but among themselves, or even two craftworlds against one another? He could only assume that at least the latter had taken place back when the state of the eldar had not been as dire as it was today. How typical; first they claimed to be above men and yet committed the same savage acts they accused others of. The hypocrisy alone was abhorrent.

The Pathfinder continued, her eyes back on the dragonhound as she kept tending to its wounds. "I was once member of a clan, a chief's daughter and as such was known to almost all of the craftworld by name. My father was a dangerous target for anyone who sought to undermine our kindred, but once I was old enough, I became a far easier quarry. A Farseer of a rivalling clan in particular attacked mine through me multiple times, until the day I left the craftworld to become an Outcast."

Her dark eyes narrowed, her despise plain as she spoke of that eldar, before she looked back at Cyrus again. "Then, many years ago, not too long after we first met, I joined an expedition led by that very Farseer. As I had left Saim-Hann and its politics centuries prior, I hoped we could work alongside one another in order to secure ancient relics from a tomb-world. But the necrontyr awoke as soon as we arrived and I urged him to destroy the main generators feeding power to their most important facilities and majority of their army, before they could launch an attack."

Cyrus had seen many horrors in his centuries of service, horrors that would have made normal men go mad, but he though himself fortunate that he had encountered the necrons only once. There was something even he as a Space Marine found unnerving about these deathless machines, an army that marched silently, without emotions, unfeeling and lifeless. They were countless and very difficult to destroy, the alien metal capable of self-repair. And their weapons could turn everything to dust, no matter how thick the armour; he'd seen how single shots had reduced brothers and Guardsmen alike to ash. Her desire to stop the necrons before an encounter on the battlefield was understandable.

"He refused, ordered us to remain at the ruins, believing we would be done and gone before any confrontation. But I took my fellow Outcasts regardless, trying to save my kin. The Farseer sent riders of his clan after us. He believed we would only draw the enemy to our people and cause the death of all eldar on the planet." Her hands stopped moving and she closed her eyes. He wasn't sure what her expression showed, but he saw signs of regret, anger and sorrow. "They killed my brothers and sisters and only I managed to escape." Her tone was bitter, her body tensed. "He murdered them because they followed me and he forced me to kill fellow eldar; I couldn't forgive that. Nor can I truly forgive myself. I lead them, they heeded my words, because they trusted me." She bit her lower lip as she paused. "I was responsible for them and I failed them. And now again one who followed me perished, slain by that daemon." Anger and guilt lingered in her voice as she spoke.

Silence followed her words, with only the rain providing any sound at all. _They were **my** responsibility!_ Cyrus didn't let it show when his own words rang in his ears. Why did it have to sound so familiar? He needed something else to focus on and studied her. With a gesture she ordered her dragonhound to lie down, her eyes still closed. Cyrus could see that she was pained by the memories, the wet strands of hair clinging to her face only emphasising the appearance.

When she continued, the Pathfinders voice was lower than before. "I knew the necrontyr would come before my people were gone, but I was hunted and so I turned to another. An Inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos." Cyrus frowned at this, but didn't interrupt. "He had followed the Farseer's activities for some time and intended to finish his hunt once and for all. I contacted him and told him of the situation on the planet. Naturally he was troubled by the news."

Of course; only a fool would have ignored the necron threat. Depending on the stage of the awakening process, the Inquisitor had probably received massive and suspicious energy readings, painting a relatively clear picture even without the eldar's expositions. She likely had convinced him to finish her mission, but if he'd come for the Seer, the Inquisitor wouldn't have simply let his quarry escape.

His answer came moments later. "Eventually a team was sent to destroy the generators, while I led the Inquisitor with some of his Acolytes to the Farseer as previously agreed. Meanwhile the necrontyr attacked my people, though thankfully the destruction of the generators allowed them to win the battle. The Inquisitor killed the Farseer and allowed me to warn my kin, as a colleague of his prepared to bombard the battlefield as well as the ancient ruins we had defended. We managed to escape in time and to my knowledge the Inquisition has turned everything on that world to fire and dust." She smiled subtly. "Now that I think about it, Inquisitor Nicomedo was as surprised as you, concerning the treachery of the Farseer."

It was not a name he'd expected to hear, his eye slightly widened in surprise. "Inquisitor Basil Nicomedo?"

Only now she looked at him again. "You know of him?"

Cyrus nodded. "I served under him during my last mission with the Deathwatch."

"Was there an Untouchable with him?"

It seemed strange that he asked about a single Acolyte, but he decided to indulge her, curious as to where she was going. "There was."

A smile. "Then you served him after my own encounter with the Inquisitor." She wiped a strand of wet hair from her face. "As far as I know he had just been recruited as an Acolyte, when we met."

He regarded her thoughtfully. The Inquisitor had survived his encounter with her, just like she had spared him back in the temple. Interesting. "You are a most peculiar eldar."

"You expected me to have betrayed him, an ambush perhaps, or to have killed him myself once our alliance had run its course." She sounded…sad.

Cyrus didn't reply.

Her eyes narrowed, her voice becoming cooler. "Don't deem yourself so highly above us. Even if we were the most honest and forthright people in this galaxy you would hunt and burn us still. I've seen the cruelty of humanity, I've seen slaughter by the hands of Space Marines and worse still." Cyrus knew of assaults on Maiden Worlds, even if they were rare. He'd listened to the homilies of hatred, speaking of the deceptive and traitorous nature of eldar, proclaiming that all should be slain. To be purged; that is the fate of the xenos. How often had he spoken these lines, when he had been part of the Deathwatch? While he had no doubt about the righteousness of fighting any and all aliens, he couldn't deny that any hatred she felt was justified all the same. "You didn't believe me when I suggested that I knew the pain of loss? Have you ever heard what happened to the craftworld Idharae?"

He had; and of the consequences. "I have; it was destroyed by the Invaders." A great victory for the Imperium, but in turn the foul xenos had almost annihilated the chapter a few years later.

"I was there when it happened." Thousands of eldar had been slain that day and still she was willing to work with him? He highly doubted she had forgiven the deeds of those days, in fact he could clearly see that she hadn't. As she spoke she held his gaze, a fire burning in her eyes. "They were recovering from a war against a tyranid fleet, when the Invaders attacked, soon assisted by the Legion of the Damned. Several of us, including myself urged to evacuate the still heavily damaged craftworld, but the Autarchs and Seers decided to fight, to defend their home. We others tried to save as many as we could, urged those who could not fight to flee into the webway, until finally the order for the evacuation was given. Too little, too late; thousands, warriors, civilian, little children were mercilessly slaughtered by the Astartes and the survivors fled to Aliatoc."

There it was again. Something about this story felt too familiar for his liking. The days the dead had seened to outnumber the living in Aurelia and an older source of pain. _This is a battle we cannot win, one that should never be fought. I would recommend we evacuate and return to Aurelia. If we remain, it could threaten the very survival of our chapter; we cannot risk that. Don't damn us…_

No, a coincidence, nothing more. And still, if it and her previous tale were true, it meant that she understood at least something of his pain, his anger, and he continued to listen, though part of him urged him to silence her.

"I returned to Idharae not long after. It was a graveyard, a husk silently drifting through space, utterly broken. But that was not the worst." She shuttered. "Craftworlds house more than just the living and as I wandered through the ruins I could hear the dead, I sensed their suffering as daemons tortured and devoured them all. My brothers and sister were gone, doomed to a fate worse than death. The savagery of the mankind had unwittingly sacrificed them to the creatures of the warp." There was so much pain and anger in her voice and worst of all, it was justified. He despised the eldar, but that loyal brothers had unwittingly made them a feast for daemons was disgusting, repulsive.

And as she spoke of the dead, Cyrus could not help it, but his own mind betrayed him, summoning memories of the Lands of Solitude, brothers and Guardsmen having died there in pointless battle, their bodies lying mutilated in the mud, covering the barren earth as far as the eye could see. It had rained then too. He had looked across the devastated land, wounded, his left eye lost, his ears ringing with death cries and artillery fire. Never had he felt so defeated, so broken as in that eternal moment he'd taken it all in.

"All I could do was listen and feel, witness it, unable to do anything. Anything at all. And I cried out into the silence of the void until my voice was gone." He had let the wind howl for him, his heart poisoned by anger and guilt. He had known then that he could never forget, that it would haunt him forever. "But I've never forgotten their voices. Or their fear, their suffering. I've failed them and ever since I've wondered if there was something I've could have done. Anything." He had failed; he hadn't done enough, hadn't saved enough. He had promised to never let such a tragedy happen again. Was his word now broken?

For a while both remained silent, her words and his memories lingering in his mind. Eventually she reached for a necklace and pulled something from beneath her armour. "You know what these are, do you not?" The eldar asked him quietly, an emerald gem in her hand, runes ornamenting its golden frame.

He nodded slowly, his old wounds still bleeding. "A spirit stone; they secure your souls after death." He was glad that his voice told nothing of his turmoil.

"Yes; as a Pathfinder it is my duty to search the battlefields for them, to secure every single one and return them to the craftworlds." She put hers away again, before she took a deep breath, her eyes full of sorrow and she lifted her hands so the rainwater could gather in her palms. "I have retrieved so many; there is nothing compared to literally holding the souls of your fallen brothers and sisters, to be responsible for their safety, their fate. Sometimes there were so many..." Her voice died and her fingers spread, allowing the water to run through them as miniature waterfalls and she didn't need to finish her sentence. He understood; more than he wanted to. She broke off and turned her gaze to the ground, shivering, shaken by her own memories.

And for the first time, for but the briefest moment of weakness, Cyrus allowed himself to feel the slightest touch of sympathy.

.,.

Yaidev had her eyes closed, feeling a silent tear running down her already wet cheeks, warm against her cool skin. Damn this daemon; she hated to feel so vulnerable and the constant sensation of its presence, the disturbence it caused and left in its wake was becoming attritional. She could defend herself from it better, shield herself, but her deliberate sensitivity could be the only thing warning them from a sudden attack by this monster. No, Yaidev knew she needed to get through this and take this pain. Had she not faced worse and survived in the past?

She only looked up again when the rain from above suddenly stopped and she looked at the Anastari, who had stepped closer. He was standing right in front of her, his body somewhat leaned forward, covering her momentarily from the shower. She hadn't even noticed his approach, having been too distracted by her own thoughts; this could have cost her her life and the thought unsettled her. But his expression had slightly softened, or at least Yaidev believed so, raindrops dripping from his chin and occasionally his hair, some of which was clinging to his skin. "Come." He spoke with no trace of hostility or coolness; his deep voice was calm, which she greatly appreciated at this moment, but also firm. "We must go on."

How unexpected. A ghost of a smile appeared on her lips and Yaidev nodded, banishing her dark thoughts. He stepped back, allowing her to get back on her feet, a hand on the tree's trunk, as she wiped a strand of hair from her face with the other. "Thank you." She told him, her voice soft once more, while she secured her Long Rifle.

This was the second time today that she'd thanked him and he seemed just as surprised as before, and yet despite suspicion underlining his words, the composure in his voice remained. "What for?"

"Listening."

* * *

Author's Note: Before some get confused, in lore there are, and always have been, examples of craftworld eldar fighting craftworld eldar. It's really rare, but not the impossibility some believe it to be.

Saim-Hann is in lore described as the craftworld with a culture similar to the Exodites, with rivalling clans and fierce warriors. In every codex I have seen it is mentioned that they are prideful (even by eldar standards), which has caused conflicts between clans and even with other craftworlds. Some note that despite duels to first blood, which usually solve these conflicts, there is actually a rather high number of deaths after ten thousand years (again, by eldar standards).

The fall of craftworld Idharae is also from the lore, as well as the retaliation, which nearly destroyed the Invaders chapter (also the invading Astartes chapter is called Invaders…how long do you think GW thought about that name?). Both will eventually be featured in my stories. Yaidev's and Cyrus' stories involving Inquisitor Nicomedo, which have been mentioned in the chapter, are _"Hunted"_ and _"Victoria Primus"_.

Lastly, while reading you will certainly have noticed that Yaidev described the average human as being but a child to her. Eldar live for millennia, their entire culture and ethics are naturally influenced by that, so it will colour their perception of other species. I know there are a number of eldar/normal human(usually Guardsman) romance stories out there, but the concept alone is way too AU for me and many authors tend to compromise the eldar characters, essentially making them humans with pointy ears…or damsels. That is not for me.

There are plenty more reasons, I could write pages, but you get the idea.

Personally, I like stories that are compatible with the lore, I try to write stories that are, so I will do my best to treat eldar as the (Tolkien's elves inspired) aliens that they are, with their own culture, ethics and perceptions; not completely inhuman, but different nonetheless. It's what I find engaging about them in the first place.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter VI**

The rain was lessening in intensity as the hours passed and sunlight made its way through to the vale, letting leaves shine in brilliant colours and water drops shimmer. It soon would be noon and if Yaidev remembered the maps correctly, they should arrive at their destination within a few hours.

Kurnous was still leading them straight to the webway gate's location, on a path that would lead them through, or at least close to a small human settlement. Pity filled her heart, when she considered the fate those simple people had doubtlessly suffered. Yaidev couldn't truly feel sadness however, as she was used to seeing such collateral damages and despite not hating humanity, she didn't quite care enough about people she had never met.

She looked at the Blood Raven, who was walking to her left and little behind her. Since their last conversation his behaviour had ever so slightly changed, that is he seemed to watch her less and even seemed not as tense. Yaidev doubted that he trusted her, but he was perhaps more convinced that she was currently on his side.

And her story of the craftworld Idharae appeared to have affected him. Certainly it wasn't the fate of her people and she assumed that it had been relatable to him in some manner. Had he been reminded of something? Whatever it was, it had to be personal and akin to her tragedy, probably involving a great loss of lives as well, which had marked him.

In a way she had hoped something like this would happen.

Understanding made people relate, it made it more difficult to hate one another, or at least in this case to break one's word. Perhaps it only reinforced the idea that eldar were manipulative, but at least everything she'd told him had been the truth. Nothing had been a lie, neither the events she'd described nor her feelings.

And it felt good to have spoken of them; it distracted her from the hatred towards the possessed they were hunting, something that could become dangerous for her. Besides, these were things that still weighed on her and speaking of them once in a while eased it every time a little more. Perhaps one day it would not hurt anymore, but until then she was grateful for every soul that would listen. She smiled to herself; even a stubborn Anastari, who cared nothing for her.

Sionnarie and Anastari.

Two animals known for their cunning, yet so different; how fitting. During her time on the human world she had heard a children's tale about these two animals. In the end the fox had outsmarted the raven, disappearing with what the latter had stolen. Would the same be true today? If all went as planned, outsmarting would not be necessary.

She needed to remain cautious; a brief moment of sympathy, gone like a leaf that was tossed about by the wind, meant next to nothing in the end. In the coming battle she couldn't give him any reason to turn against her. A few more hours and this would be over, one way or another.

Finally the first structures of stone came into view between the trees, the rain continuing. The scent of smoke was in the air, the smell of fires that had died in the rain and of course that of a daemon. It hadn't been this strong since last she'd seen it, about to finish off the Scout Sergeant.

There was something else in the air too. It felt just like after a thunderstorm, when some of the electrical charge still lingered, making the hair on her neck stand up. Yes, it was still here. Was it expecting them?

With a hushed word she ordered Kurnous to stop and come to her side. The dragonhound obeyed and she took the lead instead, cautiously approaching the village's border, silently pushing aside ferns and twigs, her feet treading on soft moss.

They stopped at the edge of the forest, letting its shadows cover them. The settlement was in ruins. It looked as if it had burned down, the buildings husks, many lacking their roofs or upper storeys, the stones blackened by flames that had died some time ago. It must have been only recently, as when the rain hit the ash covering the streets, steam would rise into the air. Some walls had collapsed, most windows and doors didn't seem to exist anymore.

The quickest way into the village would be through the house in front of them, which additionally would also provide them with cover. Yaidev had no intentions of openly walking the streets and though Astartes were known to be rather 'straightforward', the Scout Sergeant didn't seem to share that trait. She looked around, finding no trace of any sort of activity and swiftly moved from the trees to what remained of the building's walls, pressing her body against the still warm stone.

Carefully she peeked inside, finding the room beyond the large gap to be empty except for burned furniture and the wooden remains of the upper floor. Rain was falling through a hole in the roof, the water gathering on the floor as a grey puddle with ash floating on the surface.

With a gesture she ordered Kurnous to remain in the forest, while the Blood Raven took position at the other side of the gap. He nodded towards the room. "You first, eldar."

His contempt had definitely returned, much to her dismay. Still, his current tenseness could stem mostly from the impending encounter. "Cannot take your eyes off me, can you?" She teased slightly irritated, knowing before she had spoken that it was a vain attempt to lighten the atmosphere, though she was doing it more for herself. In the end it merely earned her a glare, when she looked at him.

"I don't trust you." He simply replied.

"I never would have assumed." Yaidev replied feigning her astonishment, making the sarcasm inescapable. "You've been so subtle with your animosities towards me." Well, it seemed they both were tense.

Before he could give any responds, she did as she was bid and entered the ruin with silent steps. As much fun as mocking humans was, as much as he deserved it, annoying him further didn't seem to be a particularly intelligent idea.

Her feet touched upon a layer of ash, a wooden beam bending soundlessly beneath her weight. She crossed the room with swift steps, heading straight for a large, broken window on the other side. A few pieces of glass were shimmering on the ground, but her gaze lingered on something in the corner of the room. It was almost as black the walls and the pity Yaidev had felt earlier returned. It was a body, crouched and crawled into a ball, an even smaller human in its arms, pressed closely to its chest.

Parent and child?

The eldar couldn't even tell the genders, the fire having disfigured them beyond recognition. Those poor things; it was a fate supposedly all inhabitants of this village shared.

Yaidev turned away and looked outside the window, the Blood Raven joining her, examining the room with an unmoved expression. The streets meanwhile proved empty, paved with grey stone beneath the ash. There were some burned out vehicles, but strangely no bodies. Had they all fled into the buildings, when the possessed had begun its work of devastation?

Then again from her angle, Yaidev could only see into two streets, the one leading past the house they were in and another straight ahead, leading into the settlement, where she saw a well at a nearby crossing. It seemed that the buildings further in had taken the brunt of the destruction, as only fundaments or pieces of the ground-floor walls were left of most.

Why did it linger here?

Yaidev's senses told her that it was close, but there was no point in dwelling in these ruins and the gate was still miles away, hidden at the foot of the mountains. Well, there was one possibility. "It knows I'm after it."

The Scout Sergeant turned to her when she spoke up, her voice just loud enough for him to hear. While the fallen could have waited at the gate, the settlement was a much more open space, likely giving it more of an advantage, considering its size and speed. That was if it wanted to fight her again and why was another question altogether. That it wanted any pursuers dead had been made obvious by the mutated canines, but why wouldn't it sent more beasts and vanish into the webway, instead of remaining here? Something about this felt wrong and it worried her. They couldn't afford running into a trap, but there was one option the Losseainn might agree to.

"I shall approach our enemy in open combat and attract its attention. While I fight, you should have enough time to fire a killing shot and even if it survives, I will then have the opportunity to finish it off." The Anastari's eye narrowed, as he knitted his brow. "You don't seem to like my proposal."

"I do not." He confirmed coolly.

There was a ghost of a smile. "I might get killed; I suspected you'd like that." She replied with the slightest hint of humour.

His healthy brow now rose. "Well, there are these certain upsides to your suggestion."

Was he showing a sense of humour of his own? What an unsuspected delight, however briefly she would get to enjoy it. "Then what bothers you?"

The Blood Raven looked around, taking in the sight of destruction. "We can't be certain how powerful he has become, or what daemons he now has in his service. I doubt the beasts we encountered on the pass were the only ones under his control. If they are more you might not live long enough for me to take the shot."

They couldn't remain here either. "I am moved by your concern for my safety." She noted dryly. "But we need to draw it out and with my blade I stand a far better chance in facing it in close combat, while your rifle is ideally suited to harm our quarry." Yaidev looked at the runes on his sniper rifle; compared to the deathly coldness of daemonic presence, they seemed to spread a bit of warmth. What a projectile fired from this weapon could do to those tainted by the warp. "Besides, it might not know that we are allies in this task."

For a moment he considered her words, before he took a deep breath through his nose. "We do it your way, eldar." The Astartes finally decided, though he didn't look pleased. "Try to lure him to that well."

"I will try." Yaidev promised. It was the most suitable location from this position, given that it was rather open and straight ahead, but the possessed needed to play along. Not impossible, but not easy either. She placed her rifle on ground and drew her blade, turning to him briefly before leaving the building. "May your aim be true, Anastari." Whether she liked it or not, her life could very well depend on it.

.,.

Cyrus watched her step out into the rain and thanks to her cloak even he had soon trouble seeing her in the dim light and shadows casted by the buildings. Frankly her plan had surprised him. As if saving him, talking to him in almost candid manner hadn't been enough.

Now she offered herself as bait. Wasn't it usually the other way around?

She'd been reasonable; he knew she could hold her own against a demonic foe, if not indefinitely, and her Witchblade along with Volund's sniper rifle were the most suitable weapons beyond doubt. And still her decision puzzled him.

Well, if she died today this 'outlier' would no longer be his or anyone's concern.

It still troubled him greatly to have felt even a twinge of sympathy for the Pathfinder. These past years had left him far too vulnerable, his emotions too close to the surface. When this was over and the chapter could finally recover, so could he let these wounds close and properly compose himself. Damn her for encountering him in this time of turmoil.

The eldar disappeared from his sight for a moment and he wondered if she would abandon him, if she would lead the traitor to him.

And then she appeared from the shadows.

As she stepped onto a street a block away, the Pathfinder let her cloak fall to the ground, blade in her right hand. Standing there straight, head held up high, even he couldn't deny how fierce she looked, her crimson-hair darkened by the rain, strands across her face like lines of blood. It reminded her of the first time he'd seen her, engaged in battle, unflinching standing against a Slaaneshi-daemon. With the buildings between them mostly levelled, Cyrus could watch her and with the scope of his sniper rifle he observed her surroundings.

"You do not hide your presence, daemon!" Her call was loud, her words clear, doubtlessly audible throughout most of the small settlement. "Reveal yourself; the final act in this play cannot begin before the last performer has not stepped onto the stage."

And a voice answered, familiar and strange at the same time, distorted by the twisted thing living within his flesh. "What would the eldar be without a little exorbitance?" Stone broke somewhere. "I care nothing for the embellishment of a filthy xeno." There was a touch of annoyance in his voice, or voices.

"If you will not show yourself, what choice do I have but to speak?" The eldar replied in turn with great confidence. When the possessed didn't reply at first, she looked around. "What was the reason for killing these people?"

There was a deep, cruel chuckle and for the first time they could hear heavy steps; it was only thanks to an Astartes' keen senses that Cyrus could still hear them, though the rain made it more difficult. "Don't tell me an eldar has pity with mere humans." He emerged from an alley, partially hidden from Cyrus' view by a wall, but from what he could see, the mutation had only slightly progressed. "If you must know I grew bored of waiting and sought 'entertainment'."

Glimpsing at the eldar, Cyrus could see her wrinkle her nose, her eyes narrowing. "You're disgusting, daemon." And from the sound of her voice she meant it; frankly he could only agree. Seleucus should have been stopped days ago. This slaughter would be the last sin he would ever commit. Supressing his anger, Cyrus began to take aim, needing to wait patiently for his opportunity. The eldar only needed to get the traitor down the street they were now standing on, but perhaps the overall destruction would allow him to act earlier.

He heard a scornful snort from the possessed. "Don't patronize me with your false sense of honour. You came for this have you not?" Cyrus caught a glimpse of the lance. "The runes upon this object are strong and the soul within has been rather uncooperative. And while I could break him, I do not wish to waste my time unless it is necessary. There are just too many loyalists on this world. But you." There was quiet laughter. "You will be easier to break; there's just so much that can be inflicted to a living body. It will have been worth the wait."

To the Blood Raven's surprise the eldar smiled, if rather sinisterly. "You will only be disappointed, monster." She told him calmly and only now could Cyrus see, as she took a combat-ready stance, that her eyes were bright and white.

They had looked the same on Karpos, at first anyway, before they had turned back to normal. _Worry not; I merely removed my war-mask…_

"I am Yaidev Sionnarie! Shadow Warrior and the Soul Collector!" So, the Saim-Hannian had a name and she was as proud as her brethren; there was no fear, only confidence in what he heard and saw, before her voice turned cold, almost venomous. "This time you have no sister of mine to threaten. We end this here and now, daemon! I'll send you back to the sea of souls and purge your mortal shell from this world!"

This time Seleucus truly laughed. "You think your skills sufficient little eldar? Or that your titles impress me?" Another snort and the Blood Raven noticed that smoke was gathering around the traitor, leaking into the ruins, billowing on the ground, almost reaching up to Seleucus' knees. The eldar remained untouched as far as Cyrus could discern. "Don't delude yourself, witch!" Seleucus spat angrily. "I have grown more powerful with each day that has passed. Before this hour is over your body will be broken and your spirit will submit all its little secrets to me."

The nacre-like Witchblade began to glow with dim, bluish light. "Better than you have tried and failed." Even with a daemon more than two heads taller than her, the Pathfinder appeared unintimidated. If she truly was in the state of mind Aspect Warriors fought in, then it was no real surprise. To Cyrus' knowledge that 'mask' supressed such emotions; it made intimidation tactics near worthless, something he'd been taught in the Deathwatch as part of his specialized training. She lifted her sword and pointed it at Seleucus. "Come then, or can the Architect's daemons only talk?"

"Arrogance has always been one of your people's greatest flaws." He took a step towards her. "I'll rip it from you."

What happened next would have been too fast for a normal human to perceive and though some of the still standing stone hindered his view, Cyrus watched as the traitor launched himself at the eldar, lance pointed at the alien. Once in reached he lashed upwards, intending to cut her in half, but the Pathfinder moved with great elegance and swiftness.

Swirling she dodged sideways to Seleucus' left and brought her own blade down. It cut deeply into the exposed, bluish skin of his wrist. The wound spat dark blood, shimmering feathers flew, but the hand would not release the lance. One of the wing-like appendages dashed forward, the bony thorn aimed to pierce her head.

Quickly she lifted her sword, the blade deflecting the attack, though her weapon was pushed down as well. With a backward somersault the Pathfinder moved closer to Cyrus' position, as a swipe with the lance threatened to cut into her flank. Now the pole weapon merely flew through the air beneath her and she landed unharmed in a ruin, ash getting tossed into the air.

Without the knee-high snow she moved quicker, more fluently, far more akin to what he had seen in the temple all those years ago. Seleucus ever followed her, his lance each time missing her by what seemed to be inches. The Pathfinder continued to dodge, dancing through the remains of the first two buildings, actually moving closer to the well. Every once in a while her blade would touch the lance, directing it away from her and sometimes she would suddenly advance, cutting into one of the traitor's hands or arms. Still, she only caused little harm.

Once more Seleucus swung his lance, but the eldar lowered herself, the blade passing over her. As the pole weapon destroyed the remains of another wall next to her, stone shattering, she leaped forth. The Witchblade slashed through the left leg's armour at the knee and the flesh beneath, dark blood splashing again. Seleucus snarled in pain, buckling; this moment would have been ideal for him to strike back with her so close, if it hadn't been for a wooden pillar as broad at the largest trees in the forest. Not even the fire had managed to bring it down.

The traitor lashed out with a wickedly clawed hand instead, forcing the Pathfinder to retreat before she could strike anew, but she made the most of the sudden proximity change. She managed to lean her head out of the way, claws missing just it, while she jumped back and swung her Witchblade upwards with a single hand, the tip cutting into Seleucus' chin, just sparing his nose however.

"Damn you, witch." Annoyance had turned to anger, words having turned into a many-voiced hiss. The smoke that was ever following the traitor became darker and thicker, crawling over stone and wrapping itself around wooden pillars like tentacles.

The eldar didn't reply with words, though she stopped. With a few steps she could leave the ruin and with a couple more reach the well. Cyrus saw that her blade's glow was becoming brighter, bathing her in sky-blue. With a sudden abrupt move she lifted her weapon and pointed it at Seleucus, a blinding lightning bolt leaping from the tip.

The traitor lifted his lance just fast enough, catching the bolt with the blade. For less than a second it danced around the tip, before he too swung his weapon sharply, letting the lightning fly into ruined building on the other side of the street.

An explosion brightened the twilight momentarily as more stone crumbled, the rain preventing any dust from rising. Neither alien nor possessed seemed to pay heed to the destruction, instead Seleucus only advanced, his movement so fast it bordered on teleportation. Cyrus remembered this well from their initial encounter a few days ago.

This time the ruins were in his line of sight and the Scout Sergeant could not tell how the eldar was reacting to it, only hearing their weapons clashing. Then her body was pushed backwards, unable to match the strength of the mutated Astartes. Her feet dug grooves into the ash, now finding herself on the street directly in front of Cyrus, perfectly in his line of view. Her face betrayed no emotion; a stern façade and white, dimly glowing eyes.

In pursuit, Seleucus ran after her, his fist colliding with a wall in his way, sending bricks flying towards the Pathfinder. With the elegance of a dancer, she evade each an everyone, only the tips of her feet touching the ground as she continued to move, away from Cyrus' position and towards the well.

With bricks still falling, the traitor stepped onto the street, back to his former teacher, the wings spread as if to balance him. Finally.

Cyrus aimed, his fingers were tense, ready to pull the trigger. As Seleucus continued to advance towards the eldar, the Blood Raven studied his movements, particularly following the head. He only had one shot. There was no wind, only rain. The backpack was in the way, but he could still see the top of the head. If he waited a little longer, once Seleucus turned just a bit this would be over. The eldar was doing quite well on her own, so he could afford to be patient.

As weapons clashed once more and the eldar dodged the attack of a wing, Cyrus noticed another sound. It was a shrill screech and with his cybernetic eye, the Scout Sergeant looked for the source. All he saw was a blue bird landing on a rooftop opposite from the house Cyrus was currently in.

Just as he was about to turn his full attention back to the fight, Seleucus still not having turned around, he could almost feel the animal's eyes upon him. He looked back. Yes, that bird was staring directly at him with pitch-black eyes. Three black eyes. It screeched again and in his head, Cyrus cursed his own negligence.

Wasting no time, he swiftly turned back, Seleucus turning around at the same time, arm rising. Taking his brief chance, Cyrus pulled the trigger, as Seleucus spread the fingers of his risen right hand. Immediately the ground trembled. The Pathfinder tried to intervene, but a wing forced her to stop her advance, the thorn digging into the ground next to her.

Now several things happened at once.

The traitor moved his arm in front of himself and Cyrus saw his round impacting, destroying the vambraces complete, punching through the arm. It went further, but never reached the head, instead having been diverted to the thick chest armour. Seleucus hissed in pain and lowered his arm again, blood and feathers falling.

It was a decent opportunity for the eldar. She got her body beneath the wings, which were attacking her once more, her blade cutting deeply in the lesser protected side of the traitor beneath the armour plating. Roaring he blindly lashed out with most of his limbs, a wing, though not the thorn at the end, hitting her slender body, tossing her aside. Whether she got wounded Cyrus could not tell, because at the same time he was forced to leave his position.

Like a few days earlier in the forest, spikes of solid rock, almost two meters long shot out of the ground on the street, piercing the through the wall and then the floor where the Blood Raven had been standing but a second ago.

Using a nearby door, Cyrus exited into the streets and moved away from the one leading directly to the well. It would be impossible to engage Seleucus from that direction now, he needed to get out of sight. Seeking another position, Cyrus ran past almost intact buildings like the one he had left, the screeching of the accursed bird following. With his sniper rifle slung over his shoulder, he drew his bolt pistol. Turning his upper body he aimed, seeing the bird flying closely behind him. He fired once, still running, the round leaving nothing but a handful of feathers.

The shot was almost unbelievably loud in this environment and in the forest, what he assumed to be normal birds got startled, a flock rising and flying away. The noise they created almost drowned out another; the crackling of small stones.

Cyrus was still running, searching for another vantage point, passing another building before he found the next street. The crackling noises suddenly disappeared, just as he took the turn. He heard a low growl to his right and turned his head.

There was a broken window, the interior completely dark, but he saw the movement nonetheless. A moment later he looked into the opened jaws of one of the canine beasts that had attacked them on the mountain pass, its foul breath inescapable.

Quickly he raised his arm, letting the jaws close around his vambraces. The carapace cracked, but the sharp fangs didn't make it through. Still, Cyrus was pushed backwards, forced to stop as the animal tackled him with its full weight. The beast clawed at him, simultaneously wrenching at Cyrus' arm, trying to dig its teeth deeper. It was undeniably strong, but the Blood Raven managed to keep his arm in place. Damn this creature; he had no time for this. Cyrus still had his bolt pistol still in hand, lifting it once more as he found his balance, firing several rounds into the canine.

The grip on his arm loosened, the animal's body went limb, allowing Cyrus to toss it aside, only to be greeted with another snarl. He turned around to the street he'd come from just in time to see a second canine, fur and feathers dripping with rainwater, the tentacle-like tongue hanging from between its fangs.

Without hesitation and feeling somewhat annoyed, Cyrus aimed, finger on the trigger. But just as he was about to pull it, the eldar's pet appeared from the same street, as if it had followed the beast. Surprisingly there was blood on its paws and snout. Had it already fought against more of these creatures while they had entered the village? Whether it had reacted to the fired shots or had been attracted by something else the Astartes couldn't say and watched as it buried its claws into to canine's rear, pulling it back and down with its weight. The long, dragon-like snout snapped at the tainted beast's back, which in turn howled as it attempted to whirl around.

Cyrus decided not to linger.

The dragonhound had proven that it could deal with one of these things and the eldar was still fighting alone against Seleucus. Too much time had been wasted. He ran off, putting the pistol away, taking the next turn to the right, which should take him to the well. The hissing and howling behind him continued, but the Blood Raven ignored it and drew _Cunning of the Night Wolf_ once again.

He gritted his teeth in annoyance when he realized that this street wasn't going straight, forcing him to keep going. With every building leveled to the ground floor or the ground itself, he didn't even have the option of higher ground, but at the same time his view was blocked. Frankly he had no desire to get too close either, especially now that the traitor was aware of his presence. All he could do right now was keep running and, irritatingly enough, hope that the eldar yet lived and kept Seleucus occupied. From their previous encounter in the forest, the Scout Sergeant didn't like his odds alone against the traitor. But he could still hear the sounds of battle, clashing weapons, breaking stone, armour cracking. He was somewhat relieved to hear it.

Finally after another curve in the road, the well was back in sight, not even twenty meters away, little more than bare foundations being all that was left of the buildings around him. And the combatants were in perfect view. In the one or two minutes Cyrus had needed to get around the block, both opponents had received injuries, the eldar only minor cuts, one across her cheek and still bleeding, while Seleucus showed wounds along his abdomen, limbs and face. Most were closed and none appeared to be bleeding, in fact it seemed as if he was unbothered by them. With the exception of increased rage. Even the arm Cyrus had shot through was no longer limp, though long, bluish feathers had sprouted from the hole on the vambraces.

Both alien and traitor however seemed to be breathing more heavily than before and Seleucus' expression was one of anger and annoyance, his pointy fangs showing, while his eyes glowed unnaturally. There was still the smoke to his feet, still moving as if it was alive, but by now it appeared that it was only for show and intimidation, which naturally wasn't working on the eldar.

If anything she seemed only disgusted by the creature she had to fight, once more dodging a series of blows by the wings. She leaped aside gracefully, the thorns hitting the stone well instead, reducing it to rubble.

Cyrus had stopped as soon as they were in sight, boots digging into the ash and lifted his sniper rifle. One shot.

The Pathfinder swung her blade at the wings as she kept her distance, the tip of her blade cutting into flesh, making Seleucus snarl in pain once more. He raised his lance above his head, clearly furious with his inability to dispose of the eldar, violet lightning moving around his arms. "Enough!"

Cyrus' finger closed around the trigger, the Pathfinder advanced and the lance came down.

The moment the pole weapon's blade dug into the ground a blast wave spread from it, first hitting the eldar, slamming her aside and out of Cyrus' view. The bricks on the street were swept away and what remained of the buildings around the crossing, which were in close proximity to the possessed, caved in and not even the rain could prevent the dust from rising this time.

The wave rushed through the rather narrow street and even Cyrus felt its power, getting pushed backwards, struggling to remain on his feet. The round!

He had managed to fire, but there was no telling what had happened to the projectile. His healthy eye narrowed in frustration, when he saw something impacting on the traitor's pauldron. As quickly as he could Cyrus got back into a straight position, only thinking about firing again before it was too late.

However Seleucus had taken notice of him, his gaze flitting to the pauldron, before his bright eyes looked at his former mentor. Before Cyrus could fire anew, the traitor had lifted his hand. And like in the forest before, the Raven's body rigidified. How could he have allowed this to happen yet again?

Teeth gritted with anger, Cyrus felt how his sniper rifle slipped from his paralyzed hands and his body was lifted from the ground. Slowly he was pulled towards Seleucus and once more he tried to fight this grip, but his body remained unresponsive. He only stopped once he was in front of the possessed.

Though his face had been disfigured by mutation, Seleucus look strangely calm, now that he was no longer fighting. What happened to the eldar? "I have to admit, I didn't expect we would meet again." He stated with a neutral tone of voice. And many more seemed to whisper along with it. "Even after the eldar prevented me from finishing you off, I had expected she would leave you to die." With a hand he petted a large, violet mark spreading across the right side of his face. "Though frankly if she hadn't blow off half my head, I probably would have slaughtered you both back there."

There were a lot of things that ran through Cyrus head and for a moment he wondered if the eldar would show up again at the last moment. Seleucus waved dismissively with his hand. As if gravity had suddenly increased tenfold, Cyrus' body fell to the ground, all air getting pushed out of his lungs and the traitor placed a clawed foot on his chest, pressing him down with his entire weight.

Instinctively Cyrus tried to push the leg off of him, but the claws of the almost bird-like foot simply dug deep into his armour. Wait; he could control his body again? The air was still very cold around them from the use of sorcery, but now as Cyrus looked at the traitor he saw subtle signs of exhaustion, beyond the faster and heavier breathing. Had the battle, the wounds and the powers of the warp finally taken their toll on the still mostly mortal body?

Cyrus's fingers reached for the bolt pistol at his thigh.

"I'm surprised you've lowered yourself to work with that filthy witch." He chuckled. "I guess that means you despise me even more."

Frankly he was right. The eldar was a stranger to Cyrus; he hated and mistrusted her like all of her kin, but Seleucus had been his student, his brother…and he had betrayed everyone. An alien was alien by nature, but Seleucus had chosen to turn to from the Emperor. Wrath burned like fire in Cyrus' veins, his muscles tensing with rage. This traitor would not succeed. Cyrus' hand closed around the pistol and pulled it from its holster.

"After all that you've done, 'despise' is too mild a word." Cyrus replied, his icy voice a low growl. It was not easy to speak with something heavier than an Astartes weighing down on one's chest, the armour cracking more and more. "But I have to be content with killing you quickly."

Seleucus was opening his mouth for a response, but Cyrus' arm jolted up, fingers pulling the trigger. One round after the other struck the traitor, smashing holes into his armour, as the trail let from the abdomen, over the torso, finally reaching neck and head. The last two rounds impacted somewhere around chin and nose, Seleucus stumbling backwards.

Cyrus reacted immediately, lifting the foot on his chest, using it like a lever to push the traitor away from him. The Scout Sergeant got quickly back on his feet, reloading to fire again, however while Seleucus covered his face with his free, left hand, he pointed the lance at his former teacher and brother.

Before he could pull the trigger, Cyrus was hit by an invisible force, almost like the blast wave. He was knocked off his feet and tossed backwards, his body getting slammed against a pile of rocks a few meters behind him. He snarled in pain when his head dashed against the stone, his eye closed for a second.

It opened immediately again as he squalled in pain. He looked down at the lance, the silver blade in his right side and even with a blade so sharp, the pain blazed through his abdomen, quickly spreading even further. Had Seleucus not covered his face, he probably would have hit more vital parts. Cyrus had been lucky, or this had been intentional.

With his left hand Cyrus gripped the marble-like staff, the bolt pistol still in his other hand. Unfortunately the traitor didn't remain idle. A wing came down like a lictor's scything talon, Cyrus reacting just in time to pull his arm out of harm's way. The thorn hit the pistol instead and shattered it, before punching into the stone beneath.

All he was left with now was his combat knife.

And finally Seleucus removed his hand, revealing the extent of his injuries. His face was horribly disfigured, though the rounds coming from below had sadly caused mostly superficial damage. Around his mouth and nose the skin was all but gone, damaged muscle and bone lying bare. Breathing heavily Seleucus opened his fanged mouth, a long, cobalt blue tongue, similar to those of the canines emerging, licking across the bleeding ruins of his face, the eyes glowing with fury.

 _I called you father of ravens._ No, this wasn't his student. Cyrus only saw a monster, a beast of Chaos.

"You have just prolonged your suffering." The possessed spat, parts of the tissue along his exposed chin moving, as if they were already trying to reconnect.

Cyrus reached for his last remaining weapon.

But his world turned white before his eyes, as incredibly agony ravaged his body, lightning leaking from the force weapon into this flesh. His nerves were set ablaze and though he knew that he screamed, he could not hear his own voice, his other senses gone.

It lasted only for a few moments, yet felt much longer. Even as it ended, his vision remained blurry, limited by white and black spots. Some muscles twitched and steam was rising from his body. He even tasted the sweet, metallic flavour of blood in his mouth, his teeth hurting as if they'd been replaced by nails.

With his vision slowly clearly he noticed another body on the other side of the crossing. The Pathfinder. She was lying on her front, apparently unconscious, probably having been slammed against the remains of a building as well, bricks scattered around her body. She had been the first thing to have been hit by the powerful blast wave and considering what it had done to the buildings around them, she was lucky if only a few bones were broken. If she was still alive.

A clawed hand grabbed Cyrus by the collar of his armour before he had a chance to recover from the lightning attack. He was lifted and immediately his body was slammed against the stones once more, his head hitting the edge of one and for a few seconds he saw only black as new pain shot through his mind and body.

Before his vision returned, Cyrus could hear the strident tone of Seleucus' voice. "No, don't leave us just yet." He hissed darkly. "I could burn you within your armour, but you wouldn't feel that, not long enough anyway."

He let Cyrus' body fall back onto the pile of stones and twisted the blade that was still inside the Blood Raven. Cyrus flinched, feeling blood running from a corner of his mouth. He was panting by now, but clutching the staff of the pole weapon the Scout Sergeant managed to reply. "As soon as the daemon doesn't need you anymore, it will consume you completely. You are a tool for it…nothing more." Cyrus tried to pull the lance out, but Seleucus could use his weight to keep it where it was. Realizing that there was only one chance left, Cyrus continued to talk. "You know that, you surely have seen it. In the end you've betrayed yourself as well."

"Be silent!" Another jolt of electricity ran through the Scout Sergeant's body, the world turning white with pain. "Tell me; how many of your own precious initiates have you slaughtered? Can you truly be certain that they all had fallen? How many do you think were merely on the edge, before you took the decision from them? How many hadn't known their superiors had turned? You, like all in the Imperium, murder the so called innocent in droves out of fear and hatred. You are no more righteous then I, but I no longer deny what I truly am. I revel in it."

Cyrus gritted his teeth. "I have many things to answer for, to my brothers and the Emperor himself, one day, when I stand before him. I know my hands are not clean; that is not a luxury we Astartes have and I've accepted that a long time ago." He spat out the blood that had gathered in his mouth while he had spoken. "I'm not indifferent to what has happened, to what I've done, but I've accepted it, its necessity, and will not be swayed to turn against my chapter and mankind for my own selfish needs."

"Loyal to the end?" Seleucus asked mockingly. "A proud servant of the Corpse?"

There was a flickering smile, Cyrus determined to remain defiant to the end and was pleased that he had the traitor's attention. "The failings of men don't make Chaos the true path. They don't turn its lies into truths. I remain true to the Emperor, nothing has or ever will change in that regard, and I will continue to serve and perform my duties."

Seleucus frowned, showing signs of confusion. "Do you truly expect to survive?"

"No; but wouldn't completely rule out the possibility." Frankly a part of the Scout Sergeant didn't truly care; he was a veteran, who had seen unspeakable horrors and atrocities, and though his convictions were strong he was growing weary. Naturally he would avoid death for as long as possible, for the dead could not fulfil their sworn duties, but once death came for him, he would welcome it. Perhaps today would be that day.

The traitor chuckled contemptuously and twisted the lance, making his former mentor hiss in pain. "And how would you survive? You think the eldar will help you?"

It was a ridiculous notion, was it not? And yet it already had happened before and Cyrus calmed his breathing before he spoke. "The strangest thing, is it not? She's proven to be reliable so far."

The possessed growled, its eyes narrowing. "What are you up to?"

Cyrus smirked, blood running once again from the corner of his mouth. "I guess we've switched places."

This time Seleucus truly seemed confused and he turned his head to where the Pathfinder had been lying, but Cyrus had seen a blue-glow behind the traitor. With one strike the sharp Witchblade cut through the wings, scratching the dark armour. Both appendages fell, burning with unholy fire, disappearing in multi-coloured flames as they hit the ground and the traitor howled in pain. With one swift leap the eldar was on the possessed's back, sword lifted with the blade's tip pointing at Seleucus.

With one hand he reached out to grab the eldar and Cyrus felt that the pressure on the lance had lessened. He tried to pull it out, to no avail, but as the eldar's blade came down he made a spilt-second decision.

The Witchblade buried itself into Seleucus' back and clutching the lance, Cyrus got back to his feet. The blade exited at his back, the Raven ignoring the searing pain as he let the staff ran through his body. He drew his combat knife, letting go of the lance with his other hand so he could get closer to the traitor.

Finally he was right in front of him, half of the pole weapon having gone through his flesh, only stopped by Seleucus' hand, which was still holding it. No matter, he was close enough.

The eldar twisted the blade, dodging her body away from the traitor's searching claws, resting on his shoulders with knee and foot. With all strength Cyrus rammed his knife into Seleucus' neck up to the hilt and began to cut towards the throat. "Disappointing." He snarled in pain and with pure hatred in his voice. Summoning all his strength, his free hand on Seleucus' pauldron to keep himself steady, he severed the throat, dark blood gushing, most getting soaked up by the feathers covering the flesh.

Seleucus' eyes widened, staring at Cyrus as if he was struggling with the realization of what had just happened. "Cyrus…" He could only burble and his voice was barely audible.

But the Scout Sergeant gave no reply. All that pent up emotion. He pulled the knife from Seleucus' throat. On this planet alone, this traitor had slaughtered initiates, disembowelled them and Amyntas, killed brothers for his ritual to become possessed and massacred the people of this village for his own amusement. He had chosen his path and deserved a far crueller fate than death. But this was all Cyrus could provide.

He rammed his knife into the possessed disfigured face, grabbing Seleucus by the back of his skull with the other hand. And twisted the neck with one swift movement. The spine broke with a loud crackling noise and the traitor's eyes grew dim.

The lance finally slipped from the clawed hand as the mutated body collapsed next to Cyrus, who moved out of the way as well as he could, the pole weapon still stuck inside of him. He himself sunk to his knees and put the combat knife back into its sheath. The eldar remained standing on Seleucus' back, even now that he was lying on the ground, looking rather dishevelled after the fighting, scratches on her armour and gashes in her clothing. Her posture was somewhat hunched as she caught her breath.

Cyrus meanwhile grabbed the lance with both hands and began to pull. The pain flared up once more as well, while he moved more half the pole weapon through his ravaged body. That he could still feel anything at all. Breathing heavily he finally managed to remove it, only to simply let it drop to the ground. In pain and exhausted Cyrus sat down and leaned his back against the pile of stone behind him, pressing a hand against the wound in his side. Even the Larraman Cells would require time to end the bleeding.

The Pathfinder straightened up and stepped from Seleucus' lifeless body, though her blade remained in his flesh. She opened one of the pouches at her belt and retrieved one of her runes, before she grasped her Witchblade with one hand this time.

Her white glowing eyes brightened, the rune in her palm began to float and shine with warm light. Warily Cyrus watched her, though he could guess what she was trying to do. The daemon still lingered in Seleucus' body after all.

The Pathfinder closer her eyes and he heard her hum a soft tune. Seleucus' body started to twitch, skin moving and feathers shivering. Concerned Cyrus reached for his knife, ready to quite literally leap into action.

She knitted her brows in concentration and took a deep breath, while Cyrus' hand clutched his combat knife.

Fire blazed, ever-changing flames, multi-coloured like an aurora, came bursting out, engulfing the body. The eldar was burning him from the inside. The clawed hands and talons clenched up, feathers flew off and disintegrated into dust in mid-air.

An involuntary shiver went through the Blood Raven as a faint scream was carried away by the wind, as if his entire being was repulsed by this creatures mere presencs. Frankly he was.

Seleucus' body continued to burn, the flames ignoring the continuing rain, in fact there wasn't even smoke rising. Slowly Cyrus relaxed and let go of his knife, his gaze wandering from the body to the eldar. Her eyes remained closed, the flames dancing around her legs, arm and the hand holding her Witchblade. Apparently it didn't harm her.

The blemished armour shifted as flesh turned to ash. Behind the veil of fire Cyrus could see the dark shade of bones. And then they too vanished.

The eldar fell silent and the flames died. Nothing but amour pieces remained, all burned black. Of Seleucus himself nothing was left and the Scout Sergeant felt content with this. The last of their fallen brothers, as far as they knew, had finally been vanquished. There was something conclusive about this moment; there was no sense of triumph, none that he felt, but he was glad nonetheless. And he would never allow something like this to happen again. A foolish oath perhaps, but one he would strive to keep nonetheless.

Cyrus leaned his head back and let the rain wash over his face. For the first time today he found the cool water to be pleasant. From the corner of his eye he watched the Pathfinder, as she slowly walked up to him, Witchblade in one hand, the other arm wrapped around her chest. It seemed her ribcage had been injured.

Keeping a respectful distant, though almost in arm's reach, she sunk to her knees, returning her weapon to the straps she used as holder. With her now free hand she then reached for the back of her head and when she looked at her fingers again the tips were red. Drop for drop the rain washed off the blood and she looked at Cyrus, her eyes turning to their normal colour once again, losing their glow. She looked tired.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Originally I had planned to end the story with chapter six, but I decided to add two more and thus put the original ending into the next chapter, before we get into the 'expansion'. I'm sorry things are taking longer than planned, but I pretty much have no free time (first job, long commute, looking for an apartment…) at the moment, so writing has taken a backseat for now. Hope to see you next time.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter VII**

Yaidev felt relieved, as well as satisfied. Feluhiem had been avenged and the webway was safe for another day. All she wanted to do now was take the lance, her Long Rifle and Kurnous, and return to her ship, which Melinoe had hopefully reached by now. She would try to make contact as soon as she was back on her way.

And there was the matter of Feluhiem's body. While it was safe from scavengers, she did not want to leave him here on this world. She had promised him. The question was; would the Astartes let her leave?

Yaidev looked down at the wound in his right side, which went clean through his body. It alone appeared to be quite painful, but she remembered the scream, when lightning had burned through his body. What surprised her the most however was that he had suffered the pain in part to give her time. Their eyes had met briefly, when she had regained consciousness and he had been pinned on the ground. He had intentionally spoken with the possessed, kept his attention. The daemon within perhaps would have taken notice of her approach otherwise, or the Blood Raven would have been killed quickly, leaving her alone and exposed.

The Raven noticed her gaze. "Every time we meet, I end up injured." He sounded surprisingly calm. His voice was low, but clear and he turned his head to directly look at her.

Feeling quite drained from the hunt, the fighting and the usage of her psychic powers, she gave him the ghost of a smile. "A common occupational hazard, I believe." Yaidev noted softly. "Besides, you already blame so much on us eldar; you ought to leave some for all your other enemies." Still, she was admittedly a little worried and her smile vanished. "Will you keep your word, Anastari?" She didn't want to fight him. There was no reason, he'd saved her life and she was feeling too exhausted.

The Astartes frowned. "Different from your kind, **I** had intended to keep it, xeno." He told her.

Quietly she chuckled. "As always I appreciate your charming demeanour." She jested with a neutral voice.

"The deciding question is; what will you do?" She saw that his hand was very close to his combat knife, fingers almost touching the hilt.

Yaidev remained outwardly clam, placing her hand on her heart. "You wound me Anastari." She told him, making her voice sound as sincere as she possibly could. "I promised I would not turn against you." And she had every intention of keeping her word; she despised the very idea of breaking it. No honourable warrior ever should, it would be beneath her.

But she saw that he was not quite convinced. Perhaps it needed a final gesture.

.,.

Eldar were treacherous aliens; it was the first thing they all learned about these xenos, but given what he had seen, maybe this time would be different. However unlikely. "Most eldar would not keep their word to a human." Cyrus stated calmly, keeping his voice neutral.

"I thought we've established that I'm not most eldar." He could not help but agree, but that didn't make her trustworthy. "One of the reasons I remain apart from most of them. Or perhaps it is because I've been keeping my distance." What she said next truly took him by surprise. "May I see to your injuries?"

It perhaps was the last thing he'd expected to hear. Why? Suddenly these circumstances seemed ridiculous to him and he wondered if his with pain riddled mind was playing tricks on him. Had the intense, minute-lasting lightning damaged some of his nerves? Cyrus gave her a grim smile, moving ever so slightly away from her. "Are you certain? Perhaps if I lose more blood I'll grow delusional enough to tolerate you." She shook her head and actually chuckle. Still; the task was completed. She no longer required his aid, all she needed to do was take the lance and vanish into the forest and yet she offered her help. "Tell me why? Last time you did it because you needed my assistance."

She sighed, taking his actions as a declination. "Perhaps there is no ulterior motive, or perhaps I wish to convey my gratitude without having to say 'thank you'." Her voice sounded sincere, but he frowned.

"You've said it twice before." He reminded her.

Her smile returned, still very subtle, though her eyes told him that she was apparently a little disgruntled by his continuing distrust. "I find that deeds speak louder than words." She explained with a soft voice.

Cyrus regarded her thoughtfully and for a while neither of them spoke. It was impossible to ignore that he would not have completed this mission, or survived without her. The idea to actually verbally acknowledge that discomfited him greatly; but she wasn't wrong about deeds. Perhaps he would regret this.

He shifted again, keeping a hand pressed on his injury and turned briefly to the Seleucus' empty armour. "I'm grateful this hunt is finally over. In my current condition I wouldn't be capable to continue another pursuit." When he spoke that last sentence, he looked at her directly, meeting her gaze with a telling look in his eye.

She understood his meaning and smiled appreciatively. "These past days have taken their toll on all of us and I must see to my wounded sister." The Pathfinder rose and to his surprise bowed her head in a respectful manner and somewhat reluctantly he nodded back. "Be well, Anastari; I believe there will be many young Ravens in need of an experienced Athari."

"I'm merely a teacher." Cyrus noted quietly, maybe more to himself, but she heard him nonetheless.

Her smile was still there. "Of course."

The Scout Sergeant watched her as she walked to the street where she had first encountered the possessed and recovered her cloak. She put it back on, before whistling loudly, doubtlessly calling her dragonhound, if it was still alive, and returned to the crossing.

She went back to him and put a small, white casket on the ground, placing a hand on it. From the light scent he picked up, it was the salve she'd treated his other wound with. "I know you don't wish for my help, but your need is greater than mine."

He didn't want her charity, but he remained silent. The Pathfinder didn't press the matter and finally took the lance, its blade mostly washed clean by the rain. Their attention was then caught by something trudging towards them. It came from the street Cyrus had arrived from, and when he turned his head, he saw the dragonhound. The animal was wounded, but judging from the way it moved, it was still in rather good shape and unhindered by its injuries.

Gently she petted the reptile, her hand running over the long snout, the animal purring like a giant cat. The Pathfinder said something to it in her own language and turned back the Blood Raven. "Elith, Cyrus an-Haras Anastares."

He frowned when he heard her speak his name; had she heard it when Seleucus had tried to say a few last words? Once again he gave no verbal reply and watched as the eldar rose, turned away, heading for the building she'd left her Long Rifle in, the dragonhound by her side.

She didn't look back again, knowing or trusting that he would do nothing to stop her. A part of him wanted to, alien remained alien, but his mind was made up. The eldar was keeping her word, how could he do less?

He watched as the Pathfinder stepped into the building and disappeared from his sight somewhere in the shadows. He too would be on his way soon. Removing his hand from his wound, Cyrus saw that it had stopped bleeding and the pain was fading, as long as he didn't move, though it was far from gone.

His gaze wandered to the casket the Pathfinder had placed just in his reach. Truthfully he didn't require it; he'd suffered greater injuries in the past and had continued fighting. The lightning had taken a greater toll on his body than the spear. No, he would simply allow himself a little more time, so his gene seed, like the Larraman Cells, could take care of the in- and external damage as well as they could, before returning to his brothers.

What would he tell them? It would be best to be honest, though they didn't need to know of the conversations that had taken place. Actually it was strange enough to admit even to himself that they had happened. Jaidev Sionnarie; how could this one belong to the same species as the Farseer Idranel, who had tried to reduce Meridian to ash? Had she really spoken out against that plan, or had she only tried to gain sympathy?

Cyrus shook his head. No matter; she was gone and it was merely one eldar. In this galaxy, the deeds of one could be very inconsequential and her kind remained as treacherous and furtive as they had always been. Given her chosen Path, sooner or later she would perish by the hands of humans or her life would be claimed by one of the untold horrors in this galaxy.

The intensity of the rain lessened and Cyrus noticed that it was becoming brighter. He looked up and saw that the sky had turned to a lighter grey, the first rifts showing.

And then rays of light finally made it through the cracks in the dark cloud ceiling, falling upon the ruins. The rain stopped completely and now the steam rose not from still warm ash, but the cool, wet stone instead as light hit them. Drops continued to drip from the buildings, as well as his own armour.

It was time to leave.

His wound protested as he rose, but thankfully didn't reopen. Ignoring the eldar's casket he first went to the empty, blackened armour of Seleucus. Not even the vile runes had survived the fire. He recalled the words he'd spoken to the eldar. _For the past decade I have killed those I once called brothers, men I have trained! Men_ _ **I**_ _'ve raised! They were_ _ **my**_ _responsibility! I was meant prepare them, protect them…and now I'm their executioner._

Cyrus removed his left glove, took his combat knife and ran the blade across his left palm, before he made a tight fist. He had cut deep enough to let a few drops of blood weep from his hand and let them fall. No, never would he allow such tragedy within their own ranks again, not as long as he drew breath.

* * *

The rumbling of engines could be heard and felt, light vibrations going through the floor and up to the metal slab in the Apothecarium. Cyrus kept his eye closed, taking in the peacefulness of the moment, hearing, feeling and smelling everything with heightened sensitivity, as he tried to keep his mind void of any conscious thought.

The wound in his side had been treated and he sat at the side of the slab, not feeling like lying down. Thankfully the pain had dulled significantly, but his muscles were stiff, the flesh around the stitches dull. The injury at his upper chest however was a different story. All what remained was a slight depression and a pale circle where the stone spike had punched through. In the near three days he'd needed to re-join his brothers, while the one in his side had reopened time and time again, it had almost completely healed.

When he had been crossing the mountains again, a hand pressed at his ravished flesh, burning, bleeding anew, he had, very briefly, regretted not taking the salve the eldar had offered him.

Jaidev. He would look into chapter records, see if she was mentioned anywhere, but he doubted it. The eldar tended not to share their names; mostly they hit quickly and disappeared back into the shadows, if possible before the enemy had realized who had attacked them. Names were thus more often overheard than told, but if she had truly worked with humans on numerous occasions, there was a chance.

He sighed with a hint of frustration; he'd tried clear his mind, yet evidently he was failing. Not only had the eldar been on his mind, but despite having completed his hunt, Cyrus did not feel at peace. This had been but the first step and he looked forward to returning to Aurelia. Much needed to be done.

While purging the chapter from traitors and reorganizing, the Blood Raven had ceased recruiting for the time being. The chapter was nearly destroyed; no company was at complete strength, while others simply didn't exist anymore. It was one of the reasons Cyrus hoped to return to his primary duties as Scout Sergeant soon. On the other hand, he missed his work as a teacher.

The door opened, interrupting Cyrus' train of thought as he turned around. It was Tarkus, who had come to visit, the first time the Sergeant saw his old friend since the battle for the traitors' last stronghold had begun. He too was no longer wearing the heavy armour, but unlike Cyrus showed no signs of having suffered serious injuries.

"We had begun to worry, Cyrus." The old veteran began, approaching the bed with a friendly smile. "After more than a week without communication some wondered if you had perhaps fallen in battle."

"He proved a difficult target." The Scout Sergeant confessed, not wishing to speak the name again.

"Possessed as I've been informed." There was understandable disgust in Tarkus' voice as he spoke. "The Librarians had already assumed as much, when they got a look at the ritual-site. That and considering your wounds, the Emperor truly must have watched over you these past days."

Cyrus hesitated; his belief in the Emperor was strong, but perhaps it could not be called absolute. He had become too much of a cynic and he knew that what mattered most were one's own actions. The Emperor helped those willing to act. Besides, he knew who else had assisted him and her contributions could not be simply ignored. "I'm certain He has."

The veteran's gaze wandered to his friend's treated flank. "What happened to the weapon that was stolen? All I've learned that it was potentially dangerous."

"That much is true." Cyrus was aware that the eldar could not be kept a secret, neither did he wish to outright lie to his long-time friend and brother, but there was no need to tell of all that had occurred. "But it was not destroyed, nor was it lost." He confessed. "It was taken by another."

"What?"

Cyrus shifted, knowing he needed to choose his words carefully. "The weapon was of eldar origin and unsurprisingly they seized the opportunity. There was one eldar, an Outcast. She aided me against the traitor and I can truthfully say that I would not have survived the encounter had it not been for her intervention. She left with the weapon, once she had used her psychic powers to purge the daemon, leaving me alive. My injuries did not allow me to pursue her and so I returned. I doubt however that in the hands of the eldar it will be a greater threat than any other of their force-weapons. She seemed mainly interested in the Spirit Stone and the safeness of its soul."

Tarkus' eyes had narrowed as he had listened to his friend's explanation and he seemed less than pleased. Having lost his squad when he himself had cooperated with a Ranger a long time ago, he carried a particular deep hatred for the eldar. "Nevertheless, the destruction of the weapon would have been preferable." His expression relaxed again and he unfolded his arms. "Still, I am glad you have survived the ordeal. I do not know if you've been informed, but we will leave for Calderis tomorrow; the Imperial Guard has arrived and even an Inquisitor has come to keep an eye on Nemus."

The Scout Sergeant nodded; with all that had been going on concerning their chapter, the presence of an Inquisitor was not all that surprising. "Have there been news from the Sector?" Even though the war had been won, peace had not been achieved. The fighting in the Aureila-Sub Sector would continue for years to come.

The other veteran sighed. "Several spires of Meridian still need to be cleansed, others have been razed completely. Most of our brothers are currently deployed there. Calderis according to reports however is recovering, which is why we are being sent there."

Hearing this Cyrus frowned. "What does our assignment entail?"

"The trust in the Blood Ravens has been shaken." Tarkus pointed out. "Generations will remember the horrors of the Aurelia Crusades, our involvement. Thus our Chapter Master decided that some of us should assist in the rebuilding of settlements, such as Argus."

That was rather surprising. Truly an exceptional assignment, but given the circumstances, perhaps a wise decision. Trust in the Astartes reinforced trust in the Emperor, given that they were perceived as his sons. "Reasonable." Cyrus eventually said. "I assume I've been assigned for this as well?"

Tarkus nodded. "Indeed. At least until we can begin our recruiting operations." His smile from earlier returned. "Rest now and recover, Cyrus, I must return to my squad. But if you need to speak, do not hesitate to seek me out."

For but a second there was the ghost of a smile on the old Scout Sergeant's face. After all that had happened, he was glad he could call Tarkus his friend.

* * *

The water was warm and clear, the white cloth soaking it up as eagerly as someone dying of thirst. Yaidev allowed herself a moment to feel the texture of the soft fabric and the water brushing against her wrists. She didn't like this kind of work, but it was necessary and the idea of neglecting this duty was appalling to her.

She turned her head to the table next to her on which she had laid out Feluhiem's body, his skin pale as marble in death.

After reaching her ship, the Nightblade, Yaidev had initially taken care of Melinoe, who had thankfully managed to make her way back without suffering further injuries or being discovered. Her leg was healing well and by now the younger Ranger was already able to walk normally, though the freshly repaired bones still ached occasionally, when she moved too much.

Yaidev had waited for the Blood Ravens to leave before taking her Jetbike to recover Feluhiem's thankfully undisturbed body. What few Imperial Guardsmen she'd seen had been easily avoided, and now a few days after the defeat of the possessed and the recovery of the lance, the Nightblade was travelling peacefully through the Webway.

She took the cloth out of the water and began to clean the body. Dirt and dust was washed away with each move, the brownish water gathering in a depression, running around the table surface like a frame. In death Feluhiem's features were relaxed, despite the large bruises where blood had gathered post mortem.

Yaidev was glad that the temperatures had been freezing, otherwise his body would already show more signs of decomposition and decay. A casual beholder might have believed that he had only passed away hours ago. After cleaning him, she would keep him cool, until they reached his craftworld, so his loved ones could see him one more time.

The Pathfinder sighed with sorrow. She always hated to bring the dead to their families. After great battles she and her fellow Outcasts returned the Spirit Stones of the fallen, their bodies whenever there was a chance, but she never had to see their families. But when one of her company died, it was her duty and hers alone to inform and comfort the next of kin. She didn't know if other Pathfinders and Rangers did the same, but Yaidev felt obliged, she felt responsible for those following her into the void. She would not waver just because it was uncomfortable.

 _My responsibility._

How much did Losseainnes mourn their dead? Yaidev knew that they too recovered their fallen and that they were greatly offended by the complete destruction of the bodies. Due to her centuries among the stars she'd heard of the 'Holy Gene-Seed', which purpose she could only guess as being key in the transformation from normal human to Astartes. She'd seen a so called Apothocary retrieve small organs from fallen Losseainn, but why such actions or the removal of specific tissue was necessary alluded her.

In any case, the Scout Sergeant had shown that despite the facade, Losseainnes did know emotional anguish. They were not completely cold when it came to their brothers.

Yaidev began to dress the now cleaned body of Feluhiem in simply robes of black and white. At last she took his glowing Spirit Stone, which Melinoe had kept safe all this time, and wrapped the ribbon around his hands, so that the gem itself rested in his folded fingers.

When all was done, Yaidev regulated the temperature down to sufficiently preserve his body, before switching off the lights and leaving to wash herself. Her body and mind needed the comfort of a warm shower.

...

Almost an hour had passed, when Yaidev returned to the main room of the ship, a circular chamber, in which the majority of the floor was covered by lawn. Fruit bearing trees, along with some vegetables, were growing in pots along the walls, in order to provide her and the occasional company with fresh food during longer journeys.

At the centre stood a tree she herself had created with wraithbone, as she'd been a Bonesinger long ago, its leaves currently in the reds and yellows of autumn. Yaidev changed their colours every now and then throughout the year, simulating the seasons, though she tended to skip the winter.

Melinoe was sitting near the trunk, her still healing leg outstretched, a book resting in her hands. Kurnous was at her side, lifting his head when he noticed Yaidev's presence, in turn attracting the Ranger's attention. The Biel-Tani looked up, greeting the Pathfinder with a nod. "Feluhiem?"

"Well persevered for our journey, though I wish he could be here with us now." Yaidev replied, sitting down next to her fellow Outcast.

Melinoe closed her eyes, her voice heavy with sorrow. "As do I. It all happened so quickly in my memories."

"It did; I'm afraid it was he, who was first noticed by the daemon." The first lightning strike had hit his position without any warning. That had been no accident. Yaidev studied Melinoe; it was clear that the events had shaken the younger eldar. "The Path of the Outcast is harsher than most in many respects; out here a single, even the smallest mistake, can claim your life. We do not always have the luxury of trying again when we fail."

Melinoe closed the book, her hands almost clutching it, though she kept a rather composed expression. "My family thought me foolish for leaving the craftworld." Not an uncommon reaction.

"Are you beginning to think they were correct in their assumptions?" Yaidev had seen this before. Most lived as an Outcast for only a comparatively short time, at least when compared other Paths. Doubts, especially after losing a companion, were part of this life. For some it was the final push to return to their craftworlds.

The younger Ranger hesitated. "I'm not certain." She finally confessed. "When that creature towered over me..." Her fingers dug into the book cover.

Gently Yaidev placed a hand on her knee. "Do not be ashamed of your doubts. All Outcasts have them at some point. To cast aside one's family bonds, the craftworld and the safety it provides is a difficult and radical step that should not be taken lightly." Even she had struggled with the decision, but at some point, after centuries, she had simply known that she wanted this life. She had known that she could take it. "Remember that you still have the chance to return home whenever you wish. Only few can walk this Path for long."

Melinoe looked up. "I would have expected such doubts to arise earlier, not at a point when I have already grown accustomed to this way of life."

"Duration matters little. Experience in the end is what shapes us and I believe this was the first time you've encountered a demonic creature."

She nodded. "At least the first time without the war-mask." Melinoe admitted, shivering beneath Yaidev's hand. "When I fought alongside my Banshee sisters, my mind was perfectly focused, shielded. But this time." She shuddered. "I felt the coldness of the warp upon my very soul, heard its whispers..."

Yaidev knew all too well of what she spoke. Her first daemon encounter as a Ranger had been similarly terrifying; to feel one's very soul being attacked by such an otherworldly creature, to feel it tear at once very essence. But Yaidev had learned to strengthen her defences, and when she had the chance she protected herself with the war-mask, using the mantra she had learned as a Dark Reaper. "The Path of the Outcast is no true Path; here your mind is not focused on a specific aspect of yourself or perfecting a defined skill set. And without the protection, with all sensation assaulting you without filter, you are all the more vulnerable to not only your emotions, but the effects of the Sea of Souls." She reminded Melinoe.

"I truly hadn't expected it to make such a difference." The Biel-Tani whispered.

"Now you can appreciate why we are deemed too dangerous to stay long on any craftworld."

Melinoe frowned with confusion. "But you've chosen to remain an Outcast, you've chosen this vulnerability. Why? How can you stand it? I know you've faced many daemons and their servants alike."

How could she explain this? "The choice is not fully deliberate. It just...felt right. I love to travel around the galaxy, see worlds, whether they were beautiful or horrible to behold. I love the freedom, the real sky above me, the real wind and ground." At this point, whenever she stepped on a craftworld, Yaidev never could quite shake the sense of falsity; the air, the wind, the very light, all artificial, a play for the senses. "Each journey taught me something and I knew one day that I could never be truly satisfied among the confinements of a craftworld. To restrain my soul in such ways. The thought of returning to that life made me almost anxious, as if I was a wild beast staring at a cage. And after centuries had passed, I took my own ship and set out, not a Ranger but a Pathfinder."

Melinoe lowered her gaze, silently contemplating the Pathfinder's words. It was unlikely that the young Ranger could fully relate, not after only a few years of travel, but she too knew the beautiful, the peaceful side of an Outcast's lifestyle. The explorations of worlds untouched by sentient species, the hospitality of the Exodites, the colourful harbours within the webway, where cultures of all craftworlds mixed, along with Pirates and even Harlequins.

Eventually Yaidev continued. "As to how I can stand it, well, while we are free to do almost anything we please, you will have noticed that discipline is essential in keeping oneself both sane and alive. Temptation is but one thing that can make us fall, fear yet another. Whatever happens, you must keep a certain emotional distance. How much varies from Outcast to Outcast; you must find your limits, a dangerous task, however necessary. I've been able to even extent mine throughout the centuries. I have trained to withstand the horrors to the best of my abilities."

"Perhaps I have found my limits."

"You must rest and recover; it is not wise to make such important decisions so rashly."

Melinoe placed a hand on her forehead, her eyes closing. "I cannot stop to think what might have happened..."

"You'll have to." Usually Yaidev made a point of not interrupting, but this was a dangerous line of thought to pursue, her tone cooler. "Never let you mind linger in the myriads of possibilities, especially those that have not come to pass, or lead you to such dark places." Had she not just mention the danger of fear? "As you know I once walked the Path of the Seer. I saw countless futures, presents and pasts alike, webs of possibilities impossible to untangled for anyone but Morai-Heg herself. If you only dwell on things that could be, could have been or even could come true once, you can lose sight of what is.

Not to mention that you can drive yourself into despair and insanity, when you contemplate the horrors that could have or can befall you. It can even draw unwanted attention from beyond. Sometimes even we eldar must live in the moment, take the present for what is and simply act. If you dwell, you are in danger of becoming too passive, idle out of fear of acting faultily." It was but one of the many things Warlocks an Farseers needed to overcome if they wanted to aid their kin and remain sound of mind. "Very dangerous in our line of work, when swift thinking, spontaneous actions and risk-taking is often required."

The young Ranger frowned. "Like your alliance with the Mon-Keigh?" Of course she would address that.

Yaidev folded her arms in front of her chest, well aware that it seemed rather defensive. "The alliance with the Haras Anastari was a necessary one. I will confess that I would not have survived without his aid."

"You should not speak such things." The idea of giving a human credit made Melinoe obviously uneasy.

This time it was the Pathfinder who raised an eyebrow. "And why not? We are both aware that the creature was too great an enemy for one, lone eldar. Besides, neither would he have survived had I not provided my assistance. And he is well aware of that fact." She spoke the last sentence with a smile on her lips.

"He will deny it." Melinoe claimed with certainty. "They do not deem us a virtuous people, despite their own barbarism. Far more humans have fallen by human hands than by eldar." Undeniably; Yaidev had seen many ways in which humans slaughtered one another, even the results of what they called an 'Exterminatus'.

"Be that as it may, I am the one to have travelled and spoken with him and though he is Cresistauead, I doubt he's one to lie to himself, though I doubt he's pleased to have been forced to our alliance by circumstances." In fact he had only begrudgingly agreed in the first place.

"I confess; I'm surprised that he let you leave without an attempt to end your life."

Yaidev's posture relaxed, her tone softened, her arms unfolding. "Admittedly I was uncertain of what he would do once our hunt had reached its conclusion. It would seem my forwardness had some effect after all." Well, perhaps she had pushed too far on one or two occasions. "Still, though we deem them barbarians, even Cresistauead are not without virtue; he merely honoured our agreement and I'm glad my judgment of him was at least in part accurate."

Melinoe slightly tilted her head. "In part?"

The Pathfinder nodded. "Losseainnes live for centuries, if not millennia unless they are killed in battle. He's one who has seen much of the horrors this galaxy has to offer. As machine-like as they appear to the outsider, I saw genuine pain in him in the brief time I spent in his company." She remembered his outburst in the cave very well; never would she have imagined him to speak so freely, but then again, the circumstances had been rather singular.

"You made him relate to you." The Biel-Tani realized somewhat surprised, considering what Yaidev had told her earlier about an Outcast's life.

"I tried, hoping it would somewhat 'humanize' me."

Melinoe chuckled. "How very manipulative."

Yaidev shrugged. "I merely told of some of my own experiences." This appeared to be puzzling.

"Why would you share your personal experiences? They are not fit for such creatures."

Once Yaidev had been similarly arrogant, but by now many views had changed and she still had the heart of a Saim-Hannian. Superior or not, in that moment, it had been an exchange between two allied warriors. But she knew Melinoe would disapprove of such sentiments; to her honourable behaviour was only reserved for their own kind. "The truth made for a fitting story, and thanks to our reputation he would have deemed anything I told him fiction to some degree, if not even entirely." A shame, but such was the way of things.

This time the younger eldar scoffed with derision. "They kill their own by the billions, deceiving the masses, but deem us to be without virtue or conscience." She shook her head. "The irony would be amusing were it not so deplorable."

"So; are you not entirely indifferent to the Cresistauead after all?" Yaidev asked with a smirk.

Melinoe's eyes narrowed. "I do not mourn a single death they suffer, but the manner in which they treat their own kind remains disgusting nonetheless. Though perhaps we best of all should understand cold and calculative actions. After all; we sacrifice humans without sparing them a thought." Indeed, but there was no honour in such actions, at least not in the Pathfinder's eyes, regardless how necessary they sometimes were. "Do you think someone like your Anastari could even care for normal humans?"

 _Her_ Raven? Melione could be grateful that he was not witness to this conversation. But the question was interesting nonetheless, and she mused on it for a moment. "Perhaps." Yaidev finally began. "He cares for his brothers and given his rank, he trains the youngest among them. I suppose at least they feel still feel somewhat connected to rest of their kind." She shrugged. "But I have not spent enough time around him to provide an accurate answer to your question." She had spent far more time studying the common Cresistauead, as there had been few chances to learn more about the Astartes. It was then thst a thought occurred to her. Maybe it was time that changed.


	8. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

After the cold winds, snow and rain, the warm, dry air of this world was welcoming. Yaidev closed her eyes, letting the wind softly stroke her face and run through her hair. She had stepped out of the webway into an oasis, the rock formations surrounding it, casting long shadows in these early hours of day.

At the centre was a clear spring that reflected the brilliant blue sky above, its surface rippling, distorting the image. Palm-like trees grew here, adding more shadows, their broad leaves moving gently in the breeze. There were also other plants, remarkably similar looking to giant clamps, greyish in colour, something within them shimmering, almost glowing, faintly blue. Curious; perhaps later she would study them thoroughly.

But neither flora nor fauna was reason for her presence here. She had come for something else. For someone. Well, honestly the Pathfinder didn't exactly know what she was specifically looking for, but she had to come here.

Yaidev put on her goggles and pulled up a piece of beige coloured cloth to cover her mouth and nose. Her head was already protected by a turban to prevent a potential sunstroke, which in itself could be lethal in the vast deserts of Calderis. Besides, her crimson hair would only stand out.

Nimbly she climbed the rocks, keeping to the shade until she's reached the top. The landscape around her was desolate, dominated by stone and sand as far as even her eldar eyes could see, her view impaired by grains whirled up by the west-winds. Only in the east saw she mountains rose to the sky, orange and red in the morning light. But there wasn't any sign of life. How fortunate for her.

After all, she had many miles to cover across open field.

Near the webway gate waited her Jetbike, the wraithbone this time in the colours of the Caldarian desert, her Long Rifle mounted at the side. Hopefully she would not require anything but its scope.

The engines hummed with the tune of the winds, when she started them. They raised the sands beneath her bike, as if they desired to cloak her with them. Yaidev left the oasis and let herself be swallowed by the haze of sand the west-wind created, using it as the only available cover.

She drove around dunes, most several meters high, but never climb them when it could be avoided. But aside from dust nothing stirred.

For about two hours she headed towards the mountains, the sun nearing its zenith, with only the occasional bird circling among the white clouds. Slowly the dunes shrunk and rocks began to dominate the landscape, the mountains growing as she approached them.

Soon she guided her Jetbike along slim paths and canyons, the stone surrounding her displaying fiery shades of orange in direct sunlight. A few more plants grew here, dry grasses and shrubs with tiny leaves, sticking out of cracks or clinging to the shadows.

Eventually Yaidev felt that she had travelled far enough and began to search for a place where she could hide her vehicle. As silent as it was, as well as the colours had been chosen, it remained comparatively noticeable compared to an Outcast on foot.

After some time of searching, she found an opening in the rocks, just broad enough for her bike to fit through. She pulled out a blanket made of the same material as her cloak and covered the entry with it. Adding some of the local fauna, a passer-by would only see another rock face, unless he leaned against the cloth.

She slipped out of the crevice and continued on, Long Rifle on her back, a curved knife at her belt; even if she didn't intent to fight or even kill, it would be foolish to travel unarmed.

The sun rose ever further and as Yaidev searched her way along the mountain paths, she spotted more of the indigenous fauna, from small reptiles bathing in the warm light to larger mammals feeding on the few plants growing in this desert.

Somewhere along the way the Pathfinder came across an entire herd of grey-furred bovids, with slim bodies and long straight horns growing from their heads, which had gathered in a canyon. Not only could they graze here in the cool shade, but water was running from one of the rock faces like a shimmering veil. Green moos grew here, apparently a delicacy for the hoofed animal, which plucked what patches they could reach from the wet rock. None noticed the eldar, though their long ears constantly moved, ever attentive.

Yaidev too stopped at the water-veil and pulled down the cloth that had been covering her face, sand trickling to the ground. She gathered some of the liquid in her hands, taking a few sips. It was clear and pure, with only a faint taste of stone lingering on her tongue. The humans living on this world probably depended on deep wells instead to supply themselves.

She looked around, taking in the peaceful picture before her. Given the recent history of this sector it was astonishing that any form of life had found a way to survive here. The thought lifted her heart. It was something she loved about visiting worlds, to see life thrive and continue despite all horrors. To see that places such as this still existed despite all odds.

But she had to move on.

Yaidev continued her journey, until the sun had passed its zenith, closing in on the human settlements. The signs of past conflicts were engraved into the very landscape here. Craters created by artillery and explosions, scorched or even melted rocks, bullet holes and armour pieces of all factions, buried partially in the sand.

This earth had been soaked in blood.

Eventually, Yaidev had made it to a hidden cliff, a rock reaching over her like a closing maw. She lay down on a bed of yellow grass and took the scope from her Long Rifle.

Below her was the centre of Calderian civilisation, streets leading from small villages to a city at a hillside, its buildings in natural colours, either that of stone and sand, or painted in white, reflecting the bright sunlight. Argus, capital of Calderis, and a place that had been marked by war perhaps more than any other on this world.

The walls surrounding the settlement had been repaired and people were passing through the broad gates, a few with vehicles, even more with pack animals, carrying goods. For the capital of an entire planet it could be considered small, compared to cities on other Imperial worlds she'd seen, but it seemed a busy place nonetheless.

The scars of the recent wars however were plain. Not only were many buildings completely new, but a few areas were still being rebuild.

The core of the city had already been mended, dominated by structures with great domes and sleek towers, likely having some cultural or religious significance to the humans. The southern and eastern districts were also inhabitable once more and the efforts of reconstruction now seemed to be focused on the western part of the capital.

To her delight it was there that she found the first Astartes. So there were at least some on this world; that was what she'd been hoping for. If Morai-Heg smiled upon her, and she had not misjudged the runes, the one she was interested in would be among them as well.

* * *

Noon was passing, as the sun stood high and burned down on the city, the white surfaces of the recently constructed buildings reflecting its light, adding to the brightness. Each cloud was a small blessing and anyone who could, spent those hot hours in the shadows of their homes, workshops or stores. It was actually quite common on most of Calderis that people took off a few hours in the middle of the day to escape the heat and rather worked in the cool evenings or even nights.

The Astartes however were not bothered by such conditions. By orders of their new Chapter Master, most brothers who were not engaged in combat missions, which these days usually meant appeasing the spires of the Hive World Meridian, were now partaking in the rebuilding of the devastated sector. Over a decade of war had left towns and cities in ruins, some completely deserted and the trust in the Emperor's sons was shaken.

It would take years, perhaps generations before those scars were mended.

Still, it was fortunate that it had also been the Blood Ravens, who had come to defend their worlds and so some faith remained. The offered assistance was being accepted with a certain amount of astonishment, but also gratefulness. Even after over two weeks, many people were still in awe whenever they met one of the Astartes, or found themselves working alongside them.

It was a little different with the children. While undoubtedly intimidated, their curiosity often seemed to get the better of them. They had adopted a habit of choosing one Astartes, whom they would follow around for a considerable amount of time, sometimes much to the annoyance of their searching parents. While most brothers ignored the children, a few interacted with them, though never exchanging more than a few words. At least when they didn't ran off again.

At the moment however the various construction sites were nearly abandoned, the labourers and families away for a midday meal, some Blood Raven using the time for prayer or training. Not all however.

Cyrus had finished his daily prayer and returned to his work. He lowered a wooded pillar into one of prepared holes, before adjusting the angle in accordance with the others already in place. Only then could he embed it in the hard, dry ground. These pillars were the basic framework of the building and a mistake could render the finished construction unstable. Clay and wood were perhaps rather primitive materials, but they had proven themselves in the climate and weather of Calderis, withstanding the desert conditions better than many of the more advanced means of construction. Additionally, the people could comparatively easily maintain their own homes.

All around him new houses rose from what used to be a field of rubble, here in a western district of Argus. Some had already been finished, gleaming white, though the majority was in different stages of construction. Wooden pillars stood everywhere like a forest of leafless trees, some connected by timber, creating frameworks in the desired shapes for the buildings.

The Astartes primarily helped with the heavy labour, as heavy machinery and vehicles were rare after over a decade of warfare. Not to mention that most Calderians could not effort these things and had relied on beasts as well as simple technology for millennia. This was feudal world after all, harsh and unforgiving, travelled by nomads on animal backs across deserts with dunes as high as small mountains and mountains with paths just broad enough for a single person. The more fertile areas were dominated by wide fields with far apart farms, making cities such as Argus a true rarity.

The seasoned battle brothers assigned here had varying opinions on their new mission. The majority saw it as a form of penance for their sins, the sins of their chapter, and thus accepted their duty, performing it diligently. A few even, usually among the younger generations, seemed even somewhat pleased by this opportunity, as Calderis had been the main recruiting world for the chapter ever since Aurelia had been swallowed by the warp and later Cyrene's destruction; despite having left behind their former lives many years ago, a connection to this world remained for those native.

Others however thought less positive, viewing their work on Calderis as beneath them, wishing to join their brothers in battle on Meridian instead. It was perhaps them, who most needed to be here.

Cyrus himself considered himself to most likely to fit into the former category. He remembered battles in this very district, before ork tanks had levelled most of the area beneath their tracks and crude weapons. The response from the Blood Ravens had done the rest, his own explosive charges having razed abandoned homes one by one. Actions unquestionably necessary, still it only seemed just that he now serving here.

The Scout Sergeant smiled to himself. His old friend Nadim would probably be amused to see him here like this. It had been a long time since Deathwatch and if he was still alive, the Salamander had probably returned to his homeworld of Nocturne by now. He had already considered his return, when Cyrus' tour with the alien hunters had ended.

The Salamanders were known for their close ties to the people of Nocturne, some even living among them between campaigns, interacting with their former families or even serving as clan leaders. Nadim himself had spoken of his clan as if they were as close to him as his own battle brothers. While the Salamander was saddened to outlive them, it also gladdened him to see his relatives grow and develop. In a way, Cyrus could relate to that, even if it applied to his brothers more than citizens, who were strangers to him.

Still, he was well aware that some of his Blood Raven brothers frowned upon the people of the Imperium; they embraced their role as warriors, weapons of the Emperor and deemed the lives of normal humans dispensable, looking at them with contempt, the unending war consuming their every thought and consideration.

Cyrus couldn't deny that he had become cynical over his centuries of service, but he didn't deem himself entirely indifferent. The simple truth was that they had been tasked with protecting the Imperium. They fought not only for the Emperor, but his realm as well. And the Imperium was more than buildings, machines or ancient texts. It was also its people, and while a single life counted little or even nothing, mankind itself mattered. What good was a building if no one lived or worked there? Anything from shrine to cathedral if no one worshipped there? What was the purpose of machines if there was none to use or maintain them? What was the meaning of writings if there was none to preserve and value them?

His thoughts were interrupted by hushed voices. He looked over his shoulder, quickly spotting a group of children half hidden behind one of the nearly finished buildings, close enough to be seen, but far enough for their whispers to be too quiet for even him to understand. It would seem that it was his turn to be shadowed.

It appeared to be two boys and a girl, none of them quite a decade old yet, quietly speaking to one another. As soon as they saw that they had been noticed, the three quickly stepped further behind the drying clay wall, so that only their shadows could be seen.

This wasn't the first time that children follow him and so far he had simply ignored them and continued his work. He had never gone so far as to scare them away as a few of his brothers had done, who had grown annoyed by the unwanted audience. Cyrus, like most, didn't mind them. Children were curious by nature, and what they learned and experienced in these early years would shape them for their entire lives.

A positive encounter now could instil trust and loyalty in future generations.

Some of them would perhaps even join their ranks one day, become his students. He smiled a little at that thought. To teach again, see them grow up and become true battle brothers, instead of only listening to the countless eulogies in their honour. They all had listened to too many these past years.

But even those who would not be chosen to join the chapter played a part. Only a fool would believe that Space Marine chapters didn't rely on the people of the Imperium and for more than just recruits. However essential suitable young warriors were no army, even one consisting of Astartes, could sustain itself on its own, whether it was fare, fuel, ammunition or the raw material used to create their armours, weapons or vehicles. In the end it all was resting on the shoulders of countless ordinary men and women.

With the pillar placed and embedded Cyrus went to get the next one. Several dozen had been brought on trailers to an intersection close by, as the streets were too narrow for any larger vehicle. It also was just beyond where the children were hiding. They had probably seen the trailers and decided to take a look around.

And they didn't fail to notice his approach. After a head had carefully peeked around the wall, the Scout Sergeant heard more whispers, followed by the sound of hasty steps, first on sandy ground, then stone stairs, a case of which led to a lower level of the district. Due to being located along a hillside, the city was essentially divided in terraces of sorts, connected by numerous staircases, which made travelling by anything other than foot troublesome at times, depending on where one wished to go.

"Ah!" A bright voice suddenly cried out.

Cyrus, walked around the corner, finding himself at the top of the broad flight of steps. As he looked down he saw the three children near the foot, all dressed in ankle-length thwabs, the formerly white robes stained by the dust and dried clay. To protect themselves from the sun and sand, all wore white keffiyeh with a distinctive checkered pattern, made from black cotton. To keep them on their heads, the square scarfs were secured with agals, black cords worn doubled.

The girl was sitting on a step, clutching her foot, the two boys by her side. One of them looked up and got startled when he spotted the Astartes. Quickly he grabbed the other boy by the shoulder, causing him to flinch as well.

The Scout Sergeant sighed and, after briefly making up his mind, descended down the stairs. He could spare a few minutes. Only when the boys took a few steps back seemed the girl to notice Cyrus, looking over her shoulder, a pair of watery eyes widening. She was scared just like them. As if to make herself a smaller target, she pulled her shoulders up, her head seeking cover between them.

Respect was one thing, but this outright fear was troublesome. It displeased him to be seen in such a light by the people he'd helped to protect and he was now trying to make amends to. He didn't care for honours or credit, but neither did he want this.

With deliberate slowness, Cyrus kneeled down next to the girl, who seemed frozen, eyes locked on him with awe and fear. "I will not hurt you." He told her, trying to do so softly. She swallowed audibly, but nodded, nibbling at her lower lip. "What is your name, child?" As gently as possible he palpated her small foot and ankle. The girl, like the other two children he observed, only wore a light pair of sandals, which hardly offered any support, leaving almost the entire foot bare; it was little more than a leather sole with two straps. It was no wonder she had slipped.

Another gulp. "Atossa, my Lord." She finally replied, voice merely a whispered. Then she flinched and a tear finally made it from the corner of her eye.

Cyrus frowned briefly, having felt something at the toes. "Broken." He had seen enough injuries, even if a child's bones were incredibly small and far more brittle compared to a battle brother's. Still, he decided not to rectify it himself, not wishing to do more harm than good.

"Will she be alright, sir?" It seemed at least one of the boys had found the courage to speak. Cyrus looked up to him and saw that he was just keeping himself from backing off further, his body tense.

"The bones will heal, though they should be treated." In any case, she should not walk until then. "Your parents?"

"Working at some of the new houses." The young boy replied and pointed east, down the street that went past the staircase. "It's not far from here."

Well, it was probably closer than the next medicae somewhere in the city. To the surprise of the children, Cyrus picked up the girl, letting her sit on his right arm, supporting her with his other hand to make sure she would fall off. "Bring me to them."

The boy still seemed puzzled, but the other, about the same age, quickly nodded and replied for him. "Of…of course." The two in fact looked very similar to each other, be it facial features, the tanned skin so common on this desert dominated area of the planet and dark eyes. It was of course entirely possible that all three were related to one another, perhaps even siblings.

Hesitant at first, the girl on his arm eventually took hold of his clothing, the fabric of the same red as is armour. Like most of his brothers, he declined to wear his usual combat gear in an effort to appear less threatening. Whether it truly helped was a matter up to debate.

The two boys went down the street east, lined with already finished homes, jogging in order to better match Cyrus' pace, each stride naturally greater than those of normal men and especially children. He could feel that the girl was tense, her gaze lowered, avoiding his at any cost. Truthfully he wasn't entirely comfortable with this situation either. This was not his area of expertise, but if nothing else it served the purpose of their mission.

The street they followed remained empty, though soon the sounds of manual tools could be heard, such as hammers upon wood and metal. Voices joined them as they came closer to another major construction side, scaffoldings appearing here and there.

Every now and then the boys would look at Cyrus, still showing puzzlement at his actions, as well as curiosity, which seemed to replace their fear more and more. Yet they kept a respectful distance, often looking to the girl with a hint of worry, as if they feared she wasn't safe.

She in the meantime relaxed a little, even if she didn't quite dare to move, but he could see that the girl regarded him as well now, if only from the corner of her eye. For a moment and old memory came to mind. He had found himself assisting citizens before, even though those were rare occasions, both adults and children. In this particular case he thought of an orphan girl he'd picked up during the evacuation of Victoria Primus. The Inquisitor he'd served under at the time had taken her in, chosen to make her an acolyte. If she was still alive, she would now be serving Lord Nicomedo in his missions.

He hadn't thought much of the Inquisitor in recent times, not since the tyranids had been dealt with, but then the eldar had mentioned him. Now what were the odds of them working alongside the same Inquisitor and meeting one another twice in this vast galaxy? No, something about this felt artificial, as if it was by design. But who's?

The Pathfinder had mentioned having been sent both times. Had it been by the same person in both cases? If so, a Farseer seemed the most likely employer of her services. Still, what goal would this accomplish? Or had she simply been sent out again because their previous encounter had ended rather leniently? Cyrus couldn't deny that their initial meeting had influenced his decisions on Nemus.

No, he was running around in circles, always asking himself the same questions without a solution in sight. All he could do was remain perceptive. If a larger game was at play, it would eventually reveal itself.

Until then; patience and vigilance.

His thoughts were interrupted, when the boys started to run, one of them waving. Ahead was a single person, a woman similarly dressed to the children, though with a hand-broad leather belt around her midsection. She must have heard the footsteps as she turned around, revealing her youthful face, dotted with a few specks of white paint, with which she was currently covering the outer walls of a one-story, domed house. Cyrus had learned that this coating protected the clay, making it even more resilient to the climate and weather of the planet.

"Mother." The boy that had been waving called out.

"Teispes, Otanes; where have you been?" Only now did her attention travel further. "Atossa!" It appeared that only in moment she had said this, she fully realized that the one carrying the girl was an Astartes. She immediately, dropped the large brush, bowed lowly, dropping to her knees, the curly, black hair that had been showing beneath her headwear falling in front of her face. "My Lord." There was a hint of a tremor in her gentle voice, though it also betrayed a great deal of awe.

The boys stopped next to her, hands placed on her back and arms in a comforting gesture. This time the other one of the two spoke. "She slipped on the stairs and broke something." He told his mother, referring to his supposed sister, causing the young woman to look up, meeting Cyrus gaze directly for the first time.

She only slightly flinched, but she was clearly worried and her words were spoken in haste. "My Lord, I pray my children have not bothered you. If they have distracted or…"

Cyrus lifted a hand and the woman stopped immediately, her hands clutching the boys' shoulders, slightly pushing them back as if she wanted to shield them. "You must not be concerned: their presence did disrupt neither my work nor duties. I merely found your daughter injured not far from here. I assure you it is no inconvenience." Truthfully they were a distraction, at least now, but it had been his decision to help the girl in the end. Besides, the woman was frightened as it was and there was no sense in increasing her apprehension; best to appease her and be done with it.

"Thank you, my Lord." Thankfully her body language visibly relaxed. "I'm relieved to hear this. My daughter?"

He handed the girl over to her mother, the former wrapping her arms around the woman's neck. "A simple broken toe; bothersome, but not threatening. Have a medicae looked after her and it will soon be mended."

There was a shy smile. "I owe you a great debt of gratitude, Astartes. If there is anything?"

Cyrus shook his head. "I require neither reward, nor a service in turn." He assured her calmly, desiring to end this conversation. "I will merely return to attend my duties and leave you to tend to yours."

"Emperor bless you, my Lord."

This time he gave no reply, merely nodding in response and the woman bowed anew, her daughter in arms. The girl looked over her shoulder, for the first time daring to meet his gaze. She seemed relieved to be with her mother and the fear in her eyes had turned to wonder. He looked at the small family, the children in particular. The future of this world, his chapter. The slightest of smiles graced his face for a moment before he turned around and left.

He had only made it a few houses down the road, when a familiar voice addressed him. "Such is a rare sight, brother." Sergeant Arsaces, who had also fought on Nemus, appeared from an intersecting alley; he seemed curious.

What he earned was a frown. "Then you ought to be grateful for the near perfect recollections of a Blood Raven, for I doubt you shall ever see something like this again."

"Perhaps." Arsaces replied with a shrug. "But once I was one of your initiates, I trained under your tutelage for years and I don't reckon that you truly only care little for the Emperor's people."

"If you believe so." He started walking again, uninterested in this line of conversation.

For a moment is brother watched, before he called out another question. "So I am correct in my assumptions?"

Cyrus stopped briefly, turning his head just enough to look over his shoulder. "If you've truly been one of my students, you should know that I do not always simply give you the answer." The Scout Sergeant moved on without waiting for a reply.

His brother briefly raised a brow but then his expression relaxed and he gave a brief chuckle, before he too turned away to return to his own duties. He knew Cyrus well enough to know that when their 'Master of Recruits' did not desire conversation, an attempt in engaging him was usually futile. Well, perhaps it was deeds that spoke loudest after all.

* * *

He was alive.

Behind the sand covered cloth Yaidev smiled with satisfaction. It would have been a shame had he died after her departure back on Nemus. But here he was, along with a considerable number of his brothers. She'd never seen Astartes do something like this before, helping the population in this manner; that alone was worth coming for.

Yaidev had watched their activities for some time now, seen them interact and work, sometimes on their own, sometimes alongside normal Cresistauead. It was interesting to see the humans so timid and in awe among those meant to protect the Imperium. In a way they were worlds apart and yet depended on each other. A curious relationship.

She had found 'her' Raven, as Melinoe had referred to him, after some time of searching, alone at the construction site he appeared to have been assigned to. His wounds were healed, at least his movements betrayed no impairments. The clothes he wore were as crimson as the armour of his chapter, though the colour was a little dulled by sand and dust.

Her thoughts turned back to Nemus.

Something about the encounter had bothered her. The likelihood of her meeting this particular Losseainn had been, despite their long lifespans, slim and seeing as she had been chosen by Methran'el both times, she had wondered just how deliberate the Farseer's choice had been.

But if so, for what purpose?

She had confronted her old teacher, yet his responses had been predictably vague about the subject. That much Yaidev had expected. He himself likely didn't quite know what the results would be. Even the wise could not see all ends, too entangled were the myriads of threads from which the tapestry of fate was woven. And even if he knew, the sharing of future events could lead to change, undoing what had been certainty.

Perhaps further investigation would do more harm than good, but her curiosity was as so often before getting the better of her. If she could not determine the reasons for their encounter, she at least wanted to know a little more about the Lossainn, whose path she'd been made to cross. Things had a habit of revealing themselves, given time.

Until then; patience and vigilance.

Yaidev continued to watch, the wooden skeleton of the house growing piece by piece. Nothing curious happened until a few children found him. She'd seen them walk the streets, when one of them spotted the Lossainn. It would seem that eldar and human children shared a sheer boundless curiosity, as she'd long ago learned on the isolated world of Xylon. She had been the first alien any of them had encountered and the children and followed her around whenever she had set foot in the village, until a few had mustered the courage to speak to her.

Here she saw them watch and then flee as soon as the Astartes walked towards them. The little girl slipped on one of the steps, apparently injuring herself.

What happened then surprised her somewhat.

It wasn't exactly the murder of young crows she'd expected to accompany her Raven, but she smiled with amusement, when he carried the girl to whom she assumed was the mother. The two boys remained by his side, showing the way. So Melinoe had been mistaken; a little did he care for the common Cresistauead after all and the Pathfinder felt a bit of satisfaction.

Yaidev continued to observe the exchange between mother and Astartes, when she suddenly noticed that she was no longer alone. Someone approached her. She waited for a moment and then spoke calmly and quietly. "You have walked far to meet me. You could have waited in my ship; it still recognizes you." Yaidev sat up, leaning her back against the cool rock behind her to keep herself in the shadows. Next to her crouched another eldar, dressed in colourful clothing, partially with a diamond-pattern design, her hair styled to a Mohawk in shades of blue. Instead of a face, Yaidev looked at a familiar white mask with a turquoise gem on the forehead, lines of the same colour along the eyes. "I did not expect to see you here, Nimue. What brings you to this dry world?" She wouldn't bother asking how she had found her. The servants of the Laughing God always seemed to know where they needed to go.

Despite her lowered stance, the Harlequin managed a rather elegant bow. "This day I come to you as a messenger and urgent are the tidings I bring." She spoke with a musical voice, lowered to almost a whisper. "The Black Council has called for you, Drasann; your presence is requested."

The Black Council. It was said that it consisted of the wisest Farseers of their people, governing the Black Library of Chaos deep within the webway. While other Farseers, Autarch and politicians tended to only look after their own craftworld, this Council concerned itself with the fate of all eldar. Their summons was surprising, but it would be foolish to ignore it. "What would they ask of an Outcast?"

"Not just of you, for many have been summoned to the Library." The Nimue explained. "These are turbulent times and if the eldar do not wish to drown in the coming storm, one must think of the entire fleet."

"The Black Council rarely involves itself into the matter of craftworlds." That was unless they deemed it absolutely necessary; this was an ill omen and it troubled her greatly. "Dire times. Something is coming, or am I mistaken?"

"Who can tell?" Yaidev could sense the telling smile behind the mask; the Harlequin likely knew very well. "Darkness approaches from all sides, a tempest that will drown the light of stars and moons alike. I fear I can tell no more, for you have a part in the coming play even I do not know, as we shall not share the scenes to come. Your role has been decided by the Seers of old. If thou accept it."

How could she refuse? "My kin has need of me." The Pathfinder replied. "I will come with you, old friend and listen to the words of the wise. Whatever their intentions may be, I do not dare to ignore their summons." Besides, it was a great honour to be chosen in the first place and the idea of going on a mission given by the Black Council exited her, despite her worries.

Nimue nodded. "Then let us leave at once. Long is the way to the hidden sanctuary; time is of the essence, and it is more fleeting than we can afford."

An unexpected turn of events and the Pathfinder felt slightly disappointed to end her inquiries so soon. But whatever the Council required, it was doubtlessly more important. There would be another time; if she survived.

The Harlequin left her side, knowing the Outcast would follow, but Yaidev looked back one last time. "Elith Anastari." She whispered softly, her words getting carried away by the warm desert wind. "Until our next meeting."

 **THE END**

 **For Now…**

* * *

And thus we end this short, little story. I hope you've enjoyed the journey and for those interested in further readings, all my stories are part of the same 'canon', with Cyrus and Yaidev often serving as protagonists, though it was only here and in a brief part in "From Oblivion" that I had them together in a story. Yet.

A little trivia; the names of the children are from ancient Persia, which just seemed to fit Calderis and the Blood Raven chapter. Also I wanted to get away from Latin/Latin-sounding names. As a matter of fact, Atossa is the name of the daughter of Cyrus II of Persia/Cyrus the Great.

Now Yaidev's backstory is still being told in "Pathfinder", which I will try my hardest to update regularly now and she will be in the upcoming story "Signum", which will concern the task the Black Council gives her and the efforts of an Inquisitor she helps, who combats the tyranid-threat.

Cyrus meanwhile, will have two more stories set in his two centuries in the Deathwatch. A one-shot in which he first learns about the fate of Cyrene and a second, longer story, in which he's on a mission as a Kill-Marine, travelling with a Rogue Trader and her crew, before he too shows up in the second part of "Signum"

Until next time.


End file.
